


Chance Encounters

by Rosie_White



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Genre: Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-06 07:31:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 54,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosie_White/pseuds/Rosie_White
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Odd relationships are built in the strangest ways. When Donatello assists a young woman with car trouble one evening, it sets an interesting set of events into motion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Meeting

**Title:** Chance Encounters

 **Summary:** Odd relationships are built in the strangest ways.  When Donatello assists a young woman with car trouble one evening, it sets an interesting set of events into motion. 

 **Rating:** M for language and possible adult situations.

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman, various publishers including but not limited to Image and Mirage Comics, Paramount Pictures, 4kids and Nickelodeon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  Only thing I own is Rebecca Maitland.

 **Author's Note:** This story actually started about five years ago, in an unfinished plot bunny that never seemed just right.  It actually deals with a situation a year or two after the events of this story.  I always kept trying to go back to the first story and I realized the reason I wasn’t able to finish it or go further was because I hadn’t written _this_ story yet.  Hence, here we are.  In terms of the universe I’m in, I do a smattering of 2k3 toon (no Utrom  Shredder, though) and the most recent TMNT movie (2007).  Shredder is dead in this fic but some parts of the Foot are still in operation. I will admit to you, the reason I write is because I tend to be more interested in exploring the complex relationships our heroes get into, rather than the action I know other fics concentrate on. For this, I apologize but I sincerely hope you enjoy this story—I will try to squeeze in some action when it is warranted and can help advance the plot.  After that, please enjoy and review if you are so inclined! 

****

There was no way to sugarcoat this, truly. No way to truly describe the utter and total _hatred_ she was feeling.

 

Her _motherfucking, piece of shit, basket of asshats and fuck fruit car._

At least it’s not what she said out loud, but rather screamed inside her head as she stared at the smoking engine to her vehicle.  Her father had warned against owning a car in New York City—stupid he said, idiotic and expensive to pay for the upkeep of one when you had limitless public transportation at your finger tips in the Big Apple.

 

Rebecca Maitland had always been a stubborn one.

 

She glanced at her watch, straining her eyes on the dark street and while she couldn’t make out the exact time, she knew it was late and she wanted nothing more than to be home with a cup of tea in her small studio apartment. However, her car seemed to be having other ideas.

 

The night had started off normal enough.  Rebecca had finished up a late night of research at the library, declining offers from her cohort to come out for a few drinks on Thirsty Thursday.  Her apartment was only a short distance away from NYU by car and she only made it about a quarter of the way until the car had began smoking and sounding like a wounded cheetah.

 

And of course it had to stop in the one location in the entire freaking city that had street lamps that were acting up. Every few moments the lights flickered on and off like it were some sort of B-horror movie. She also thought she’d seen some graffiti of what could possibly look like purple dragons on the walls scattered around the deserted street and the only thing she could conjure in her mind were the reports on the news about the recent high levels of gang activity.

 

At that precise moment, the street lamp Rebecca was parked under decided to flicker out, leaving her in a blanket of darkness and she was only able to make out the shadows of the buildings around her and the other twinkling lights of New York City in the distance.  Again, she glanced around herself nervously noting that, yes; there was still no one out on the street this late hour.

 

 _The city that never sleeps, my ass_ , she thought to herself. _Why couldn’t have Draco broken down in fucking Times Square?_

 

Rebecca growled softly under her breath and tried pulling and tugging on a few parts in the engine as if she actually understood what they did or how to fix the problem.  Her hand moved to feel for her cell phone in her pocket only to realize it sat in the car, along with her keys still in the ignition.  She pondered calling her friends only to remember most of them were already three sheets to the wind loaded and certainly not in the position to drive.  She’d cancelled her AAA membership years ago as an unnecessary expense.  The idea of calling a tow trunk only made dollar signs dance in her eyes.  Her fellowship from NYU for her doctoral program was a nice package but it certainly didn’t allow for much room for things like tow trucks and new cars, especially considering the cost of living in New York City. 

 

As she was weighing the pros and cons of calling a cab ( _The cost wouldn’t be too bad but do I really feel like waiting for one?),_ the air around her changed ever so slightly. It almost felt as though she was being watched.  Rebecca wrinkled her nose and looked up from where she had been staring at the dark engine of her vehicle in silent contemplation to examine the semi-silent street.  She half expected someone to step out from one of the alleys on the small back street but she didn’t see anyone in the shadows on the street.  Cars beeped and honked in the distance, with a siren or two—the usual sounds of the city but she could not make out the obvious sounds of a person on the street.  Frowning, she looked up towards the rooftops and then shook her head at herself.

 

_No one there, Rebecca.  You’ve been spending far too much time with Frankenstein and Edgar Allan Poe lately._

Her mouth and her fingers suddenly itched for a cigarette and she was tempted to pull out the pack of cigarettes she kept in her car for these types of emergencies.  Sighing, she closed the hood of her car with a large thump. Screw it—she’d just have to walk home and deal with this in the morning.  Sabrina could probably give her a ride to come and get the car tomorrow—Rebecca was thankful her schedule had worked out so she didn’t have classes on Fridays.

 

_Thump._

The soft sound made her pause, slightly startled and surprised.  It had sounded like it had just come from behind her.  But there hadn’t been anyone on the street a few minutes ago...her blood froze as more images from the evening news flooded her mind. Rapes and muggings—always common in New York, right? That’s why the SVU show was so popular—it depicted the actual gritty reality of the city that people never remembered.

 

Her fingers danced over the mirror on the driver’s side of her car—if she moved quickly, she could rip her keys out of the car and aim her pepper spray at her would-be assailant and maybe, maybe then she could run for it and make it back to the university—it really couldn’t be that far—

 

“I can fix that for you.”

 

A male voice broke through Rebecca’s fear warped mind and she mindlessly began groping for her car door—she just had to grab the keys.  A scream was beginning to work its way through her throat and the starting pitches were about to come out. Her hand slipped on the handle and she decided to just leave it—better to save her ass than to be grabbed from behind while trying to reach her only possible weapon. 

 

Suddenly, before she could break into a run, a hand wrapped around her waist, tugging her back to something that was hard—almost like a chest and a hand clamped down her mouth, muffling the screams that emerged.  She began struggling against the massive, wide form behind her, attempting moves she had learned in a self defense class she’d taken during her undergrad years.  Each move did nothing to loosen the male’s hold on her and she desperately began trying to bite the hand holding her mouth.

 

“Hey! Hold it! Come on—I’m not going to hurt you!” A voice sounded against her ear and she would have snorted had she not been so completely terrified.  Of course he wasn’t going to hurt her—he was just going to suffocate her to death with his giant hand and then probably rob her and, then—

 

Well, she didn’t want to think about that.

 

“Please,” the voice spoke again.  The owner of it lifted her clear off the ground like she weighed less than a pound and shook her gently. “You have to calm down. This is well known Purple Dragon territory and they’ve been involved in a turf war lately with some of the smaller gangs.  Do you really want to draw more attention to yourself?”

 

Rebecca’s struggles slowed and she shook her head no, softly, which the male could feel from his hand on her face.

 

“Alright, good.  Now, listen to me.” The hand around her waist loosened a bit but he still kept a firm grip on her mouth.  “I’m going to fix your car for you so you can be on your way home and out of here.  Do you have a mini toolkit or anything in your car? And maybe a water bottle?”

 

She nodded slowly, still uncertain of the male’s actions.

 

“Good. Few more rules. I’m going to let go of you in a moment and you can get what you need out of your car.  First rule—no screaming. At all.  Second rule—you can’t look at me. Keep your back turned and hand me what you need.” 

 

Rebecca frowned inwardly for a minute.  Was this some weird perv who got his kicks helping damsels in distress by having them not look at him?  There had been weirder in the world, she supposed.  _As long as he doesn’t go back on his word,_ she thought to herself.  In spite of her doubt, she nodded again to indicate she’d follow his instructions.

 

“Excellent. I...I am sorry about having to do it this way but—well, if you could--,” the male stopped and sighed trying to recollect his thoughts.  “Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” He released his hold on her and stepped back, watching the young woman for a moment to see if she was going to keep her promise.  After a long minute passed, with Rebecca breathing heavily and waiting for the possible wrench to crack in her in the skull, there was nothing and the male spoke again.  “Good—you can listen. Grab the toolkit and the bottle of water from your car.  I’m going to stand back.  I’ll step up behind you and take them—just hold them.”

 

“O-okay,” Rebecca said the words hesitatingly, still not entirely trusting the man.  There was something so fundamentally _wrong_ with this entire situation that she could not put her finger on it.  Shakily, in spite of her nerves and the adrenaline still coursing through her, she went to her car and methodically pulled out the tool kit her father had insisted she keep and the half full bottle of water resting in the cup holder.  For a brief second, she contemplated pulling her keys out of the ignition to grab her pepper spray and use it on her almost-savior but something told her he’d know if she reached for it and at this moment, she was really just looking to get out of here alive.

 

Carefully, she walked backwards, feeling the male’s eyes on her the entire time and held the requested items out behind her, trembling slightly.

 

“Thank you,” the voice said simply. She felt the items leave her hands swiftly. Out of the corner of her eye, Rebecca could see the shadow move to the front of her car and prop open the hood with a familiar squeak.  She stood awkwardly in the middle of the street, studying the possible shadow of a nasty graffiti message on a brick building.  What did one say to a possible friendly stranger whose first action had been to scare the poop out of her?

 

She opened her mouth and then closed it and opened it again before she could stop the words from leaving her mouth.

 

“Do you do this often?” Her voice was oddly quiet—it was said almost in a whisper and she doubted he even heard her.

 

The scraping of metal and muttering stopped for a moment and he spoke back, surprising her. “Fixing things, yes. Rescuing women—not nearly as often as I’d like.  Although, you didn’t really need saving.” He paused, thinking. “Yet.”

 

Hmm. Her rescuer had a sense of humor—a pleasant surprise. Tonight was full of those surprises.  She wondered for a fleeting second if the sky would rain money, because it would make a bit more sense to her than what was currently happening.

 

She spoke again, her breath hitching from an early fall chill that blew past her. “Are you a cop? Or were you in the army or something? You were...you seemed strong.”  _What an odd conversation to be having,_ she thought. _I was never good at small talk._

He chuckled lightly, continuing on with his tinkering. “Neither of the above. Consider me a...watcher.” 

 

“Gang member?” This was becoming a game, she realized.  Trying to guess who he was without actually looking. Her eyes strained a bit to try to glimpse a better look at him but he was now completely hidden by the hood of her car, bent over in his ministrations.

 

“Heck no.” He sounded mildly offended. “Far from it. Good—not evil.”

 

“Ah,” she said, biting her lip, pondering.  A scattered memory bubbled up in her mind.  There had been a few scattered news reports over her last year living in the city. Reports of vigilantes handling the ever increasing gangs and crime with more action and force than the police.  The...Phantoms? Is that what they were called? Her mind struggled to remember.

 

“Vigilante?” The word floated out of her mouth and his long pause made her think she’d finally won.

 

“...You could say that.” It was all he said and she heard the continued scrapings of metal.

 

“I haven’t lived here very long—only a year,” she blinked at herself, giving away completely unsafe and unnecessary information. “They say on the news—there’s this group the police can’t identify but some people really like them. The...Phantoms?”

 

Something clattered to the ground at that and was quickly picked back up to cover up the obvious slip. 

 

“Your point?” He sounded annoyed now.

 

“...Are you one of them?”

 

The silence between them stretched longer than the previous pause. The air around them had changed, from cautious teasing to tense and stressed.  She scolded herself in her head—always pushing too far and having to be nosy.  The guy was already doing her a favor and this was how she repaid him by interrogating him.

 

“I’m almost done,” his voice made her jump and it wasn’t the same teasing tone it had been before. “You can sit in your car.  I’ll tell you when to start it.” He paused again, tinkering. “No looking.”

 

Rebecca nodded, despite the fact that he more than likely couldn’t see her. She walked over and sat in the driver’s side of her car, taking a quick peek in front of her only to see he was still blocked by the hood.  Her gaze drifted over the passenger side and she concentrated her eyes on the dark stain from the coffee she’d had earlier that week. 

 

“Done,” he said and she could hear him move away from the hood of the car. “Couple of cables were disconnected and it was overheated. Should probably get something more reliable or get rid of the whole thing all together.” A dig _and_ he sounded like her father.  Just what she needed. 

 

She growled softly under her voice and her hand felt its way to the ignition to start the car again.  It roared to life after a minute or so, not sounding as much like a wounded cheetah but a dying squirrel. She’d take it.

 

Rebecca hadn’t noticed if he had closed the hood.   She was so concentrated on getting out of there and taking a long, deserving soak in her bathtub with a glass of cheap wine that she flicked her headlights on without a second thought.  Out of habit, she glanced up to notice her hood was closed and...

 

A pair of dark brown eyes stared back at her, widening, bright and obvious from the light of the headlights. The eyes seemed to be covered by some...was that a _purple mask?_ And was it...it had _green skin?_

 

Some...some _thing_ stared back at her in utter shook. They both stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity before the creature turned around and took off, climbing up a drain pipe effortlessly. From there it leaped onto a roof and Rebecca could see it no more.

 

She sat there for a moment, mouth gaping open in a silent scream as her mind replayed the image over and over again.

 

Her savior...rescuer, whatever—was a giant fucking _turtle?_


	2. Aftermath

_I can’t tell anyone._

It was the only thought that kept repeating over and over again in Rebecca’s head as she sprinted up the stairs to her third floor walk up.  After the...the...creature (because she _refused_ to call it a turtle) had run off, she’d sat in stunned silence for several minutes before finally coming to her senses and speeding off like some sort of deranged NASCAR driver.

Parking, like always, was an issue and she was happy to finally just be headed to her safe sanctuary.  Her keys jingled as she struggled to open the door in a hurry and when finally inside, she slammed the door shut with a quick turn of her two dead bolts and chain.  She flicked the light on and collapsed at the small cafe table in her dining area, breathing heavily.  Within minutes, she was frantically rummaging through her bag for a lighter and her pack of Marlboro Lights. In a few well-practiced movements, she had the cigarette lit and the familiar hint of nicotine calmed her nerves instantly.  She eyed the cigarette in her hand for a second, remembering that she should be really smoking on the fire escape as the landlord had been very specific on the _non_ -smoking aspect of the lease but she couldn’t really bring herself to care.

After all, shouldn’t she be allowed to be a little irresponsible considering the strange experience she’d had?

The first ashes from the cigarette fell into her favorite ash tray and she studied the outline of the buildings across the street, almost as if she expected to see _it_ again.  She let the cigarette hang unattractively from her mouth and walked across the studio apartment to draw the drapes closed. It...it didn’t feel like anyone was watching her but it was better to be safe than sorry.

 _What the fuck WAS that?_ Rebecca thought, walking over to her small sofa and turning the TV on for some type of distraction.

Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t...human. _But it...he...sounded human._ At least, it had seemed as though he—it—HE (it was male, after all or had sounded male at least) were male and knew the English language. 

 _Maybe I’m just crazy?_ She let go of the cigarette, to exhale and promptly inhaled again, thinking.  At no point recently had she hit her head and while the semester in just the first four weeks was showing signs of being hectic, she hadn’t really started feeling the stress yet.  For a brief second, she glanced at the cigarette in her hand wondering if seeing giant green creatures was yet a new side effect of nicotine that tobacco companies had prevented from being released.

 _Urban legends though..._ Rebecca pulled her laptop out and brought up Google in her browser.  She had heard urban legends before about the sewers being filled with giant alligators...perhaps what she had seen this evening was a consequence of the New York City sewage and waste disposal system.

However, after a few minutes, search terms such as “large green creature NYC sewers” and “humanoid turtles” only brought up various blogs and homemade websites that discussed government conspiracies regarding aliens and secret experimentation—nothing legitimate.  At this point, the alien explanation did seem to be the most logical.

A yawn escaped from her mouth and she rubbed her cigarette butt into the bottom of the ash tray.  The lack of sleep certainly wasn’t going to help her in determining precisely what she had seen this evening.  Maybe the sleep would reveal it was all related to exhaustion...

Sighing, Rebecca swiftly changed into an oversized T-shirt and boxer shorts and settled into her small, full size bed next to the window.  Her dirty blonde hair fell down her head in a thick, straight mass and she shook some of it out to prevent the inevitable tangles that would assuredly be there by morning. The light flicked off and within a few moments, she drifted off to sleep.

Surely, perhaps, she’d just imagined the entire thing.

++++

Donatello watched the apartment window from high on a rooftop across the street until he saw the light go off through the drapes.  Even though a good thirty minutes or so had passed since his encounter with the young woman, he still remained tense. 

 _Way to be creepy, Don..._ he thought to himself, as he started the long climb down to the alley below.  In his hands, he still clutched the toolkit from the woman’s car. 

 _Leo’s going to kill me._   And, more than likely, he probably would.  The entire family had been on high alert over the last several months because of the increasing numbers and reports of the supposed ‘Phantoms’ that were heralded by some as champions of the city.   Others, still, spit the word ‘vigilante’ at them like it were a dreaded curse.  Of course, the added nuisance of smart phones was becoming a great cause of concern. One camera shot or video recording and the entire family’s existence would be revealed to the world at large.  Leonardo had started ordering the destruction of any piece of technology the brothers came across just in case it happened to be recording them.

Things were tense, to say the least.

Finally, Donatello reached the alley and quickly disappeared into the sewer below, the manhole echoing a large ‘clunk’ in the darkness.  It took a few minutes to get his bearings but soon he was heading back towards the lair, trying to think of a logical explanation for why he was returning so late.

The evening had been a typical one.  Patrolling had been done earlier than usual and a few minor altercations had been taken care of—robbery in progress, one or two muggings—nothing too terribly difficult.  Leonardo had ordered everyone to head back to the lair since it seemed to be a slow night.  The gang activity, while active over the last year, had started to slow down with the onslaught of fall.  Criminal activity always seemed to increase in the summer months in New York City—possibly something to do with the heat or at least that was what Donatello remembered from an article...

After the family had started to settle in for the evening, Donatello had abruptly decided it might be a good time to take some of the books he’d casually ‘borrowed’ from the NYU library.  He’d headed out, books in a backpack, with a quick goodbye to Leonardo and Michelangelo who were engaged in a heated game of ‘Go Fish’ with Raphael looking on amusedly. 

Simple, easy trip, really. He should’ve been back in an hour.

Getting into the library unnoticed went off without a cinch like always and while browsing the stacks and replacing the books back in their proper locations, he’d seen her again, sitting at one of the tables, intently pouring over books.  Others continued to file out as the evening wore on, but per her habit, she remained at the desk, until the irritated librarian had mentioned something about the late hour and that the library was, in fact, now closing. Donatello had chuckled to himself at that—it always was the same each time he’d seen her.

He didn’t know her name but over the last few months had come to know her face and her work routine, which seemed to be comprised of late nights and intense concentration.  The first few times, he hadn’t paid her much mind but her leaving late and the ongoing turf wars among the gangs had made him concerned for her.  He first just followed her to her car to make sure she got to it okay.  That had gradually increased to following her drive for a few blocks, nothing more.  The car sounded like it could give out at any moment and he wanted to make sure she wouldn’t be left stranded on the street, in spite of her obvious ownership of a cell phone.  Finally, one evening as the spring was fading into summer; he’d discovered he’d accidentally followed her the entire distance to her apartment, only leaving after she’d clicked the lights off for bed.

Donatello hadn’t mentioned it to any of his brothers—the girl, whoever she was, was his own little secret.  He never had any intentions of interacting with her and for a few months over the summer, he hadn’t seen her and figured she was out enjoying what small bit of a vacation she had from her school work.  Therefore, he’d been pleasantly surprised to see her at the library in her same spot, same routine as she had a few months ago.  He’d glanced at his cell to check the time and shrugged to himself. His brothers could wait a few minutes longer—he wanted to make sure she got home safely.

He had hesitated before he had helped her—Donatello had been hoping she’d just use her phone to call a cab or a tow truck.  After watching her slam the trunk shut, he’d determined she was going to be naive and walk home—through Purple Dragon territory.  He hadn’t meant to scare the shit out of her—he’d just wanted to fix her car and get her on her way to safety. The headlights coming on and her awkward attempts at conversation had been _nowhere_ in the equation. 

He’d especially not meant for her to actually _see_ him.  Donatello was worried and for good reason—sure he’d watched her for a few months but he didn’t know any of her connections, he didn’t know if she’d actually _tell_ anyone about what she’d seen.  Just because a person looked nice didn’t mean they could actually be trusted, after all.

The thoughts continued to elude him as he punched in his code for the lair and tugged the third pipe from the left.  Two brick walls pulled apart and he stepped into the lair. The lights were low and Michelangelo was in his typical spot on the touch, the TV on some sort of bizarre infomercial and a bowl of popcorn resting in his lap.  Donatello rolled his eyes at his youngest brother and moved to shake him.

“Mike...Mikey, come on. Wake up,” he whispered, shaking the turtle.  Michelangelo shifted and opened his blue eyes to blink blearily at his brother. 

“Five more minutes Leo...” and Michelangelo’s head fell back against the couch, his eyelids drifting closed again. Donatello made a sound of irritation and shook him again.

“I’m not Leo, Mikey.  It’s Donny—you better get up before Leo catches you on the couch again—,”.  A sudden voice from the dark side of the room interrupted Donatello midsentence.

“I’m still awake, Donny.” Leonardo stepped out from the kitchen, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowing on the purple masked turtle.  The sounds of snoring came in the distance, indicating Raphael was already in bed early for once and in a weird set of circumstances, Leonardo was the one still awake.

 _Of course,_ Donatello thought. _As everything else has been completely off this evening..._

Leonardo continued, as Michelangelo drifted back to sleep, turning and spilling popcorn all over the couch and the floor. Leonardo didn’t even flinch as Donatello hoped he would have.

“Care to explain why you’re this late?” His older brother looked serious and his eyes were focused on Donatello.

“I...uh...” Donatello struggled for an excuse. He had never been good at lying. “I...helped someone having some trouble.” He paused. “On my way home.”

“Uh huh...” Leonardo nodded, his eyes flickering down to the toolkit in Donatello’s hands. “I suppose this someone gave you that as an award.”

Donatello couldn’t help but wonder if this was what Raphael felt like every single time he came home late. He could now understand his brother’s constant irritation on some level.  But, then again it was just Leo being Leo and this was his way of showing concern, no matter how nagging it seemed.

“It’s from her car—it was broken down, in Purple Dragon territory,” Donatello explained, putting the tool kit down on the table.  He groaned inwardly, realizing him he’d have to return it to her but he certainly wasn’t going to be telling Leonardo that at this particular moment.

“ _Her_ car?” Leonardo emphasized the feminine pronoun and sighed, letting his arms fall to his sides.  His demeanor changed, looking at this brother worriedly. “Don, did she see you?”

The silence from Donatello served enough as an answer to Leonardo.

“Don...I can’t—you let her see you?!” 

“I couldn’t help it, Leo!  I made sure she kept her back to me and I fixed her car for her.  Right when I finished she turned the car on and the headlights...she saw me. She saw it all.”

“You left? Right after?” Leonardo sounded frazzled.

“You know, Leo, I’m not a complete idiot,” Donatello glared at his brother, as they argued back in hushed whispers and Michelangelo snored softly on the couch.  “I took off after she saw me.  Maybe—maybe she’ll think it was a dream? That she imagined it?”  He was grasping at straws.

“How do you know she wasn’t Foot or Purple Dragon?  Purple Dragons are recruiting all sorts of people across the city these days—,”.

“She’s not a Purple Dragon, Leo. Trust me,” Donatello cut in.  “She’s a student or something, I think. Hardly the type of join a gang.  She was coming back from the library at NYU.” He thought quickly to cover himself. “I saw the parking sticker on her car.”

Leonardo sighed heavily again, shaking his head. “If you say so, Donny, I just—well. I...,”.

“You worry, Leo.” Despite the tense conversation, Donatello gave his older brother a crooked smile. “You only want the best for us.  I’m pretty used to it after twenty-four years.”

Leonardo managed to crack the smallest hint of a smile. “I’m glad one of you understands. Anyway,” he gestured back towards Donatello’s laboratory and bedroom, “you better get to bed. Practice early tomorrow morning.  I’ll see if I can get Mikey to move to his room.”

Donatello nodded, somewhat relieved there hadn’t been more of a confrontation. He walked around Leonardo to begin heading towards his room.

“And Donny?” Leonardo’s voice was quiet and Donatello turned around again to face him.

“I know you said you don’t think she’s...well, that she might be okay but it never hurts to make sure. Can you watch her for a bit? Just to make sure?”  His voice was asking but Donatello could hear a hint of a command in his voice.  Leonardo had gotten more confident in recent years in his leadership abilities and was able to give an order without always demanding it directly as he had in the past.

Donatello nodded, thinking that this could allow him to return the tool kit to her.

“Of course, Leo.” He met Leonardo’s eyes. “Whatever it takes.”

+++++++

 _Tip tap tip tap tip tap..._ pause.... _tap tap tap tap tap..._

Rebecca groaned and removed the cigarette that had been hanging from her mouth, smashing it into the ash tray next to her where four other cigarette butts sat, already cool.  She continued to press the back button and glared at the screen of her laptop. The words made sense in her head but she was having a hard time articulating them onto paper—her paper proposal was due in another week and she wanted it perfected by the end of the weekend.

She sat outside on her fire escape in an NYU hoodie that was falling off one shoulder and a pair of bright blue sweat pants.  Dusk had already fallen and unseen stars were shimmering in the early fall night sky.  Normally, Rebecca preferred to do her work at the library but considering the events of yesterday, she thought it might be wiser to stay in for the evening this Friday night to get her work done.  The passing hours of working on assignments and grading had started to wane on her and though the small size of her studio didn’t often bother her, there were times it felt suffocating. She’d relocated to the fire escape several hours ago and the fresh air had been, at least for awhile, providing her with a nice change of scenery.

Her black, rectangular frames fell forward on her nose as she studied the screen intently.  Annoyed, she pushed them back and tightened the bun of hair piled at the bottom of her neck.  _Perhaps it’s time for a break,_ she thought, moving her neck back and forth only to feel it crack.  Rebecca sat the laptop next to her and took the moment to stretch and readjust her placement on the fire escape.  She removed the glasses from her face and allowed her eyes to readapt to the darkness of the street.  The street was relatively quiet for a Friday evening but she could make out a few of her fellow pedestrians out and about, presumably headed out for an evening of clubbing and fun.  Over the last several years, Rebecca had certainly had her fair share of partying but the life of a graduate student at NYU didn’t allow for much of a social life outside of school.  It didn’t bother her, though—a small sacrifice for a degree she’d be proud of for life.

She drew her knees up to her chest, watching a group of scantily clad girls make their way down the street. At different points of the day, she had reflected on what had occurred the previous evening and she still wasn’t sure of what she’d actually seen.  Rebecca had even made an unnecessary trip (by bus) to NYU mid afternoon to try to find _something_ mentioned in the papers but it had been a fruitless venture.  Besides, she wasn’t about to ask the librarian for help.  In a desperate attempt for answers, she’d even attempted to casually mention strange occurrences and the idea of aliens or mutants roaming the city to her friends, only to be met with hysterical laughter. 

As Deanna had told her, she knew how to tell a joke.

Rebecca had cracked a smile and managed a few laughs along with them—it was obvious she wasn’t going to able to tell _anyone_ about the mysterious masked creature without someone suggesting she be locked up in the loony bin.

After taking another stretch and placing her glasses back on her face, she picked up her laptop to start on her paper proposal again.  Perhaps the entire situation was just one of those things that couldn’t be explained—the answer didn’t do anything to satisfy her but she knew from others and the world that there were things in life that couldn’t be logically explained, no matter how much one tried.  She was just going to have to let the matter rest.

A familiar pack of Marlboro Lights sat next to her and she shook one out, bringing it to her mouth and lighting it with the red lighter.  The taste allowed her to recollect herself and focus on the task at hand. She closed her eyes to savor it for just a second.

“You know, smoking is bad for your health.”

Rebecca’s eyes flew open and the lit cigarette fell from her mouth to her lap. 

 _He_ sat on the stairs of her fire escape, staring directly at her.


	3. Tentative Friendship

For the first few moments all Rebecca could do was stare at him, completely and utterly perplexed and slightly scared of why he was there and how he able to find out where she lived.  It was difficult to make out his appearance in the darkness—the annoying male seemed to have a penchant for cloaking himself in the shadows _just right._

The cigarette that had fallen into her lap suddenly began to burn and she removed it with a quick screech and a curse to toss it onto the street below.  The masked creature grabbed it quick as lightening and quickly threw it into the ashtray by her side.

 _Hmm. Well, at least he seems to care about the environment,_ she thought wryly, still unmoving.  Several minutes passed before she was able to squeak out a question.

“Is—can I—is there something I can help you with?” She stuttered softly, frozen to the spot.

The creature cleared his throat and placed a familiar rectangular shaped box next to her on the fire escape.  “I wanted to bring this back to you. Thought you might miss it.”

Random...but okay. This guy had made a show of tracking her down to bring her back a $10 toolkit that any moron could walk into a Wal-Mart and buy?  There had to be something more to this.

She glanced at the toolkit by her side and swallowed, her voice suddenly dry. Slowly, she removed her laptop from her lap, closing it.  It was obvious she wasn’t going to be getting any more work done on her paper proposal tonight—unexpected company and all.

Despite the fact that he had not done anything to her the previous night, Rebecca still felt distrustful of the male.  He expected something, that much was clear, and she wasn’t sure what it was he wanted.  It was also grating to her how patiently he sat there, just watching her, not saying a word.

“I don’t have a lot of money,” she finally blurted out. Mutants who roamed the city probably wanted to rob people, right? To fuck with them because they had been shunned for so long?  She felt like she was pulling this from an X-Men vs. Magneto storyline but in her scattered brain, the idea made some sort of sense.  “You can have my laptop or...there’s some cash, in my apartment, if you’d just let me go get it—,”.  She turned abruptly in the direction of her window to head back into her apartment.  Maybe if she gave him some money, he’d leave her alone and she could finally get back to a reality where mutant green creatures didn’t roam the city at night.

A hand circled around her wrist, tightly, preventing her from going in. She shuddered, tears pricking in her eyes. This was it, the end, wasn’t it?  She wondered how they’d find her, what they would tell her father, if she’d suffer—

“Do you honestly still think I want to hurt you? Or that I want your money?  After last night?” His voice broke through her thoughts and she froze again. The tone of it sounded different this time, almost as if he was honestly hurt by what she had said.  Rebecca shivered a bit at the sudden chill in the air and turned back around to face him, only to see he was inches away from her.  She could make out more details of his face, illuminated by the glow of her apartment behind them.  His eyes were the same shade of dark brown she’d seen last night and they were encased in a dark purple mask he had tied around his head.  The pale color of his plastron caught the glare of the light behind them and she could see the shape of the shell on his back, with something protruding from it—almost like a piece of wood.   He was, it seemed, actually green and darker, in complexion—almost like an olive green.

He caught her eye again and muttered a quick apology letting go of her, backing up a bit to give her more space. Suddenly, Rebecca felt ashamed of herself.  At any point during the day he could have come by while she was alone and most of her neighborhood was at work if his ultimate goal had really been to assault her.  Furthermore, he truly hadn’t had to stop to help her last night—he could’ve ignored her like some bystanders would have.

It was her turn to clear her throat, as she found her voice again. “I—I’m sorry. You’re right.” The silence continued on. “You—well.” Talking was proving to be increasingly difficult. “It’s just...not often that I meet a talking...” She trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence.

“Turtle,” he finished for her, readjusting the pads he wore on his elbow.  “Talking turtle. Mutated, to be precise.”

“Were you human?” Rebecca spoke, instantly curious about his background.  He seemed strong and aware of human customs.  Could it be possible he was someone who had just fallen into odd circumstances that left him as he was? Her mind conjured up the results from her hurried Google search the previous night. _Government conspiracy or cover up?_

“No,” he said flatly, meeting her eyes again. “Turtle, from the beginning.” He stopped, eager not to give away more than he should and possibly endanger his family. “My turn to ask questions now.” He flashed her a small smile as a peace offering and she couldn’t help but give him a small one in return.  Perhaps he wasn’t as abnormal as she thought he was.

“What’s your name?” He asked it casually and she was a bit surprised—she thought his questions to her might have been more complex. 

“Rebecca,” she spoke after a moment. “Rebecca Maitland.”

“Nice to meet you, Rebecca,” he stuck out his three fingered hand to her, indicating the start of a handshake. “I’m Donatello Hamato.”

It took all of Rebecca’s will power not to laugh as she shook his hand, somewhat amused at his name.  Of all the names she imagined belonging to a mutated turtle living in New York City, Donatello wasn’t among them. 

Upon releasing his hand, a memory came to her, back from a history class she’d taken during undergrad.  Art history, and the class had been discussing the artists from the Renaissance. She looked at him confusingly.

“Like the Italian sculptor?”  She asked him, tilting her head, curious.

“Like the Italian sculptor,” he repeated back to her, nodding. “But, you can call me Don or Donny for short—the only person who ever uses my full name is my father.” He said the last bit chuckling softly to himself.

“You have a family?” Rebecca clearly sounded shocked.  She’d honestly expected him to be alone.

He hesitated a moment before answering. “I do.” And again he stopped, not giving away more than he had to.   “You’re a student at NYU, right?” Donatello carefully changed the topic of conversation and steered it back towards her.  It was the only way, of course, he’d be able to determine if she were to be trusted.

Not that Leonardo would probably agree with his methods at the moment anyway.

“Graduate student,” she stated matter-of-factly. “I’m in the doctoral program for English literature—nineteenth century British literature to be exact.”

His eyeridges shot up at that. She was young to be in a doctoral program—most people didn’t enter programs like that until much later in their twenties.  Rebecca was evidently very ambitious and bright. 

She sensed his surprise. “I’m twenty-three,” she added. “I started right after I finished undergrad—I didn’t want to waste anymore time.” She smiled at him again—though the entire situation was completely and utterly odd on every level, the normalcy of the conversation was comforting in a strange way.  Though, she frowned looking at him when she remembered something.

“How did you know where I lived?” She asked hesitantly, somewhat afraid of his answer.

“...I followed you home last night,” he answered, aware of how creepy and stalkerish that sounded. “I wanted to make sure you’d be safe.” He added the last bit quickly, trying to make it seem more innocent and altruistic, even though it certainly wasn’t.

“Ah,” she stated simply. Rebecca looked at him, slightly annoyed. “Just so you know, in case you weren’t aware, the whole “Edward Cullen-follow-girl-and-watch-her-sleep” deal is actually not sexy or romantic. It’s just creepy.”

Donatello looked perplexed. “I’m sorry—who’s Edward Cullen?”  He also coughed. “And for the record, I didn’t watch you sleep—because THAT would’ve been creepy.”

For the first time all day, Rebecca let out a genuine laugh at the turtle, smiling.  “Let’s just say you should avoid any references to any books or movies entitled ‘Twilight.’”

“But now you’ve peaked my curiosity,” he shot back, returning her smile and laughing a bit. “Now I must know more about this mysterious Edward Cullen.”

“No, no,” she shook her head.  “You have to start at the beginning, with the first true actual dashing romantic hero—Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of _Pride and Prejudice_.  I’ll gladly lend you one of my five battered copies.” She grinned at him as a sudden gush of wind came back, causing her to shiver from the cold.  Even though Donatello didn’t flinch, he certainly didn’t look comfortable being...naked and all.

 _Is naked even the right word?_ She thought, puzzled.  Shaking her head to get rid of the inane thought, she gestured to her apartment. “Would...would you like to come in, maybe? Get out of this chill? I think fall is coming earlier to New York City than normal.”

Donatello paused for a moment before answering her.  He hadn’t been sure exactly of what would happen when he stopped by to give her back the tool kit.  He’d told Leo he was going back to conduct ‘surveillance’—a half lie as much as a half truth.  Besides, he’d already gathered her name and her age—it was enough to get a basic start on a quick background check.  Seeing her apartment would only allow him to be more precise and possibly get some more information.

Not to mention, it had been some time since he’d been inside someone’s apartment. Not since...well, not since April—

His mind stopped the thought before he could let it continue and he mustered up a shake of his head at her invitation. 

“I’d love to come in,” he said.  She nodded and started to get up from the fire escape and Donatello moved backwards to give her more room.  As she went to grab her laptop sitting on the cold steel, he moved quicker than her, snatching it up. “Got it.” He made a motion for her to continue on. 

“Thank you.” She sounded surprised. The gesture had been unexpected but she appreciated it on some weird level.  _Nice to know chivalry is not dead._ She clicked open the window to her apartment again and gingerly stepped through, careful to watch her footing.

Unbeknownst to her, Donatello used his foot to kick her forgotten pack of Marlboro Lights off the fire escape, the pack falling to the street below.  Within minutes, he determined, some teeny boppers would find them, overjoyed at the possibility of free smokes.

He followed her into the apartment, grateful for the sudden warmth from the increasingly chilly night and sat her computer down on a cluttered coffee table.  Her space was small but cozy.  Next to him after he stepped in was her bed, hurriedly made with simple, clean white and blue bed covers.  A large combination of an entertainment center/desk/closet was on his left, books lining every shelf and clothes hidden by the double sliding doors.  The kitchen was towards the front of the apartment, some dirty dishes in the sink and a few hanging out on the drying rack still waiting to be put away.  A door was next to the kitchen. Donatello couldn’t see into the room but logic drove him to determine that was the bathroom.  The corn blue couch was small but comfy—even with the odd pattern over it.  All in all, it was a small space but from what he knew about her thus far, it seemed to fit her well.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” she said sheepishly. “I hadn’t been expecting company.” She blushed slightly, moving some papers and notebooks off the cafe table that served as her makeshift dining room table. 

Something told Donatello that if she’d been expecting company, the place wouldn’t have looked much different.  It was the true definition of a ‘starving graduate student.’

“It’s nice,” he said, glancing around. He stepped close to one of her bookshelves, examining it. 

“Would you like something to eat? Or drink?”  She stood in the kitchen and opened up her refrigerator, peering in. “I have some leftover Chinese food from the other night. Tuna fish?” Rebecca looked up from the fridge to look at him, realization dawning on her face. “Oh, wait...do you eat...well, do you...”. _What the fuck do turtles even eat?_

“I have lettuce,” she finished lamely, closing the door.  He turned from examining her books to chuckle, shaking his head, laughing.

“I eat normal, run of the mill human food. Pizza is a favorite of my family’s.” He smirked, watching her face redden again at her mishap.  “Water, though, would be nice.” He’d purposefully given her something to think about, other than embarrassing herself. 

“Water...yes, I can do that.” Rebecca went rooting through her cabinets for a clean glass. “Ice?”

“No ice is fine, thanks.” His eyes fell onto the couch where her iPhone sat, encased inside a light blue cover. Quickly glancing towards the kitchen to see that she was sufficiently occupied, he swiftly picked the iPhone up, shoving something inside the connection area. In a split second, the phone was back on the couch, as if it had never been touched. 

Donatello didn’t like doing it but it was a necessary precaution.  Leonardo had suggested it as something to track her movements and to make sure she didn’t suddenly decide to go to the police or the feds.

 _Or the press,_ he thought to himself, knowing that was Leo’s biggest fear than both the police and the feds combined.  Police and federal agents could be avoided—photographs and eyewitness accounts could not.

“Here you are,” Rebecca stepped up to him, holding out a red tumbler glass. “One order of water on the house.”

“Thank you,” he said, taking a quick sip.  “Nice and cold.”

She laughed at him. “Well, while I can’t afford much, I certainly have cold water in abundance.” Something caught her eye and she was studied the item on the back of his shell with great interest. Without thinking, she brought her hand up and was about to touch the long, round piece of wood strapped to it, curious as to what it was.

In a flash, he grabbed her wrist again, not flinching. Her eyes sparked with a bit of fear then and she moved her gaze to look at him worriedly.  He coughed, letting go of her hand once more.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, avoiding her eyes. “Reflexes.” There was more to it than that, of course, in the fact that Master Splinter had taught all of the brothers to have the utmost respect and care for their weapons.  His bo staff was like another limb—it didn’t feel right to have someone else touch it without his permission.

“It’s alright.” She shifted back, bringing her eyes to the object again, but kept her distance this time. “I shouldn’t have—just curious. If you don’t mind, answering though—what is it?”

“Bo staff. Used primarily in ninjutsu.” A textbook answer to a textbook question. 

Her eyes widened and she looked into his eyes, confused again. “I’m sorry—do you mean _ninjas_ used them?”

“Use,” he corrected her, using the present tense.  Donatello finished the water and set the glass on the coffee table, watching her.

Rebecca was flabbergasted to say the least. “Do you mean to tell me, Don, that _you’re_ a ninja?” She used his name for the first time and while it was a natural reaction, it still felt odd on her lips—like his having a name and using it made this entire situation and series of events finally and concretely _real._

The ninja part, though? She wasn’t sure she bought that yet.

“Yes,” he nodded, as it if were obvious. “I was trained to be a ninja.”

His quick reflexes and reactions suddenly made sense.  Also, his strength when lifting her up the previous night in an attempt to calm her was explained.  She still thought the entire idea was ludicrous but considering the events of the last twenty-four hours in which she’d discovered that at least one family of mutants roamed the city, this explanation wasn’t too farfetched.

“It’s getting late,” he stated abruptly, glancing to the blinking time on her TV indicating it was only about quarter to midnight. “My family’s going to be wondering where I am.”

“Oh,” Rebecca said, slightly disappointed. Some part of her had been hoping he’d stay for a bit longer.  It was stupid and perhaps a bit immature but it was nice having someone different to talk to, with different life experiences. Not that her life was boring or mundane but the added company had been nice.

“Would you come back?” She asked, playing with her hands nervously. “To visit?” Without warning, she moved to a corner of the room coming back with a battered paperback novel in her hands. “We...we could talk about this book, if you wanted?” Rebecca was grasping at straws but she wanted something to hold him to, to make it possible for him to return.

Donatello took the book from her hands, glancing at the cover as a small smile came over his face.  The book was _Pride and Prejudice._

“I’d like that,” he said simply. And he meant it. 

“Great!” Her face brightened.  “I’m around most evenings—except if I go out with friends or something but with the semester picking up, I won’t be out as much.”

“I’ll know.” Donatello enjoyed the look that came across her face as he made a joke about the stalker comments earlier. “I’ll keep an eye out for your light if I happen to be in the area.” And he would be in the area. Often.

Surveillance was important, after all.

“Three knocks and it’s me,” he told her. It was a familiar system that hadn’t been used in quite some time.  On some level, he reveled almost in getting to use it again.

“Okay,” she said, smiling.  “It—it was nice meeting you, Don.” She preferred his nickname over his whole name. Suited him better, in her opinion.

“Same here, Rebecca.” He paused, thinking. “Becca?” He said it almost like he was asking for her approval.

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I hate nicknames.  No one’s called me that since I was seven.”

“Fine. Becca it shall remain.” Donatello smirked at her again, holding the book and opening her window to slip out onto the fire escape.  “I’ll be around.” He stepped out before she could get another word out.  By the time she made it over to the window, it seemed like he had almost faded away into nothing, no trace left behind.

She closed the window and began preparations for an early bed time, smiling to herself.

It was the beginning of a tentative friendship.


	4. Too Far?

Saturday morning was light and bright in the Hamato household.  Over the last few years, Leonardo had been persuaded (mostly by Michelangelo) that Saturdays should be a day of rest at home.  Early morning practice six days a week along with annual nightly patrols (sometimes twice a night if the crime activity was high enough) could easily take its toll on the family. Therefore, on Saturdays everyone could sleep later than usual (ten o’clock was the unspoken deadline), have a leisurely breakfast and just relax in general over the course of the day.

Donatello sat in front of his computer, typing away quickly on the customized keyboard that was better adapted to his larger hands and fingers.  A larger monitor sat next to him, seemingly searching through some kind of records.  Hacking into NYU’s database had been cake, tracking down Rebecca’s records even easier.  He’d briefly considered sending them a notification or an alert that he was in the system, just so the administration and IT could look into beefing up their security. 

So far, her records had not revealed much of interest.  She was from a suburban town in the Philadelphia area and had gone to a small liberal arts college in Massachusetts, double majoring in English and history.  Her transcripts showed she was competent in her chosen profession, generally doing very well in her English classes.  The science and math classes were another story, though.  He was somewhat saddened to see that while she did well enough to pass those classes, she obviously did not have the same passion for those subjects as she did the humanities.   In the end, though, her GPA was still good and it was no surprise to Donatello she’d managed to get into NYU on what he was assuming was a full-time fellowship.

The financial records were proving to be a bit trickier and it was taking some time for him to tap into her FAFSA.  From there, Donatello was going to try to trace her bank account information to determine if it looked like she’d been taking bribes recently.  Money was often tight for graduate students and despite her innocent exterior, she could have slipped into the bribery of the Purple Dragons or the Foot and hell, even Bishop if the money had been tempting enough.

Deep down, it bothered Donatello that he was doing such extensive research into her background.  He _wanted_ to trust her, to build some sort of friendship with her.  His life had been lacking that since April.  He refused, though, to put his family into any unnecessary danger if he could avoid it.  The Hamato family had been through too much in the past two years and he wasn’t about to add any more stress to that. 

He refused.

In a flurry of typing, a hard knock sounded on the doorway and Donatello glanced up to see Raphael holding up his laptop, looking frustrated.

“Hey Donny,” he said, clearing his throat.  “Was wondering if you could take a look at this again for me. Stupid thing won’t load the fuckin’ internet....”

Donatello frowned and motioned for his brother to come forward. “What happened this time?” He stood up from his chair to allow Raphael some room in setting his laptop on the desk.

“How the hell am I supposed to know?!” The red masked turtle glared at him, crossing his arms.  “I just double click on the icon and some shit comes up saying somethin’ about some sorta virus software crap.  Doesn’t look like the name of whatever the hell it is we use...”

Donatello sighed heavily and clicked around a bit on the laptop, diagnosing the problem in seconds.  “Great, Raph. Just great. Looks like you somehow got a Trojan downloaded on this thing when I just removed one for you last week!”  He gave Raphael a ‘look.’ “How in the world do you manage to do same thing _again_?!”

“I don’t fuckin’ know!” Raphael glared at him, irritated.  “I was just clickin’ around—it’s not like I go downloading porn all the time.”

 _Of course you don’t, Raph—just once or twice a day,_ Donatello thought to himself, clicking around on the screen again.  After a few minutes, he had the laptop set up to run a thorough scan and if that didn’t work, he’d be forced to go through the whole thing by hand, but at least it seemed fixable.

He stepped away from the desk as the machine buzzed and whirred.  “Just avoid clicking on any kinds of ads—you might have to finally adapt to using Firefox over Internet Explorer...” The sentence faded away as Donatello realized Raphael was looking at the larger monitor confused as it came with up with the search results for Rebecca’s financial information.

Raphael scrutinized the screen and turned to look at his brother, bewildered. “Donny, who the hell is ‘Rebecca Maitland’? And why are we so interested in her...” he read the words aloud, “ ‘Free Application for Student Aid?’” He shook his head, stepping back from the screen.  “Sounds like a loan or some shit.” 

Immediately, Donatello clicked the ‘off’ button on the monitor, causing the screen to go black. “Nothing,” he stated hastily, turning off the monitor on the smaller desk computer he’d been working on moments before. “Just something Leo wanted me to look into.”

Raphael glanced at him, narrowing his eyes. “That’s the chick you helped the other night, ain’t it?  Fearless told me about it—don’t think he meant going to stalker-like behavior, Donny.”

Donatello rolled his eyes at his brother. “I’m not stalking her—we just need access to her financial records to double check if she’s taken any bribes or not. I’m _not_ taking any chances.”

His brother snorted, leaning against the wall. “ ‘Course, Donny. Just keep telling yourself that. She cute?” 

Donatello blinked at him and thought back to Rebecca’s appearance—she certainly wasn’t unattractive but she was a bit curvier than the current day’s standards of beauty.  To be honest, she just looked comfortable to Donatello.  Fashion did not seem to be one of her greater concerns.

Though, the glasses perched on the tip of her nose had been kind of cute.

He thought his answer over carefully before finally speaking. “She’s not terrible to look at, if that’s what you’re asking.  Simple would probably be the best way to describe her.”

Raphael stared at him, incredulous.  “You describe a young woman as ‘simple?’  That’s a nice, gentle way of saying she’s ugly.”  He stated it very plainly—Raphael was never one to sugarcoat the truth.

“She’s not ugly, Raph! Ugh! I swear...” Donatello pondered for a moment, struggling for a way to describe her.  “She’s just...her.  I can’t think of a way to describe it anymore than that. Besides, I can’t say I was busy checking her out when I was _fixing her car._ ” He said the last part with emphasis, to drive the point home that he had been accomplishing a task during their first awkward and slightly doomed meeting.

“Psht. Whatever you say Donny...” Raphael began walking but turned back, his voice going oddly serious. “Oh, Leo wanted me to tell you—Casey’s stopping by later tonight...” He trailed off, waiting to see his brother’s reaction.

Donatello’s mouth tweaked a bit and he suddenly found a spot on the wall fascinating. He was quiet when he responded again. “Oh?  What’s the reason?”

“We gotta nail down plans for when we...for when we go up to the farmhouse again. He wants us to pick a weekend, so we can, uh...you know...”

“I know, Raph.” Donatello’s voice was steel and he picked up a stress ball that had been sitting on his desk, rolling it through his hands. “So we can pay our respects. Again.”

“Yeah...” Raphael coughed and gestured towards the door. “Anyway, I gotta go.  Mike stuck me with fucking vacuum duty again...” With that, he trailed out of the door, leaving Donatello to his own devices. 

The room had gone suddenly cold and Donatello wandered out of his lab to head to his bedroom next door, closing the door.  Michelangelo would be tracking him down within the hour to take care of his chore for the day, which was to clean the dishes gathering in the sink but for a few moments, he wanted to be alone with his thoughts.  Reaching into his belt, which hung on the headboard of his bed, Donatello pulled out a picture that was slightly faded and creased.   He laid back on the bed, holding the picture in front of his face and April O’Neil stared up at him, a small smile dancing on her features.  Her red hair was thrown up in its typical bun, a few tendrils framing her face tenderly as she shot the middle finger jokingly at the photographer who happened to be Mikey.  The picture had been taken at a random moment in time and was one of several candid shoots Mikey had taken over the years.

This was how Donatello liked to remember her...before.

****

It had been two years ago, right around the beginning of November.  Crime had been on the downturn and Donatello and his brothers had been enjoying the much needed time off.  Leonardo had been home for about a year and the family had finally moved past the time of readjustment and were working together as a successful unit.  The nights were colder and because of such, they were spending far more time in the sewers where it was warm.

April’s business had picked up surprisingly well and was advancing to a point where she’d be able to hire other employees other than herself and Casey.  The two had gotten engaged earlier in the summer and were in the midst of planning a May wedding for the next year—small scale as April didn’t have any family left and Casey preferred his didn’t attend.  It’d been a few days since the Hamatos had seen their friends but April had been busy fulfilling orders and getting together items to ship in time for the early Christmas shopping season.  She’d called their home that morning to inquire about the state of their refrigerator and cabinets and resolved to get them some groceries to tide them over for the next few weeks. 

Donatello had been one the last one to talk to her, hearing her laugh over the phone. He’d been tinkering with an alarm system update and had only half paid attention to the phone call.  April had made it a point to tell him she knew he was distracted and to joke it wasn’t her fault if she didn’t get the correct items off the shopping list. 

He wished now he had paid attention, told her the grocery trip wasn’t necessary. He wished he’d listened to every word she’d said to him, because it was all he’d have left of her.

The night had been getting later and Leonardo was worried about her.  Michelangelo had tried to laugh it off, saying April had been busy lately and was just later than usual.  Raphael worried that Foot had decided to go after her again for some unknown reason.  Donatello thought she might have gotten lost in the sewers, not paying attention to the latest tunnel updates he’d done recently.

It wasn’t until a few hours later when Casey called that they got the news.

April had been driving to the grocery store when another car hit her vehicle head on.  The accident happened so fast and both cars had spun wildly out of control, April’s car running into a light pole and even flipping once or twice.

Instantly killed on impact, Casey had said, eerily quiet into the phone.  She’d never even felt a moment of pain or had time to realize what was happening.  The driver had been a young, reckless thing, smelling of liquor and booze. 

He had told the police he was going to be late for his curfew. He walked away with a broken arm and a black eye.

Time had slowed then and things began to unravel.  Arrangements were made and Casey insisted on equal input from the Hamatos.  April had left behind a small will but had not indicated much in the way of wants or desires, obviously not intending to be gone so young.  They buried her at the farmhouse in a small, quiet ceremony on a cool, damp November morning with both humans and non-humans were in attendance.  Later on, from a will reading, they found out April had left the farmhouse to both Casey and her “dear friends Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello and Master Splinter” to do as they saw fit. 

Her will had stated it was to “remember the memories passed there in happier times.”

Everyone mourned in their own way. For two months on end, out of respect, the brothers had rarely left to go topside (with the exception of Raphael) and stopped patrols altogether.  Leonardo assisted Casey with the arrangements and selling off the parts of his and April’s jointly shared business as Casey alternated between bouts of grief and normalcy.  Raphael was rarely seen, except coming home with blood on his hands and charting the progress of the driver who’d hit April through the judicial system.  Michelangelo had turned to cooking and his art—Donatello remembered the fridge had been rarely empty because Mikey constantly crafted and recrafted new recipes. Master Splinter struggled to keep the family together and to squash the grief that was threatening to tear it apart.

Donatello, though...Donatello buried himself in his work, almost to the point of obsession.  He rarely slept, and when he did, his mind replayed the final conversation with April and her laugh that echoed over the soundwaves.  System updates that were monthly were suddenly daily and nothing, _nothing_ was good enough to protect the family from the outside.  It wasn’t until Michelangelo had found him in a fetal position, whispering April’s name over and over again in tears did the family realize the toll her passing had on him.  Splinter acquired a mix of herbs and tea tailored to combat depression and administered it to him on a weekly basis, barring him from working and training for weeks.

Later on, during discussions with his father and his brothers did Splinter explain why her death had affected them all so much.  Her death...her death had no clear enemy, aside from the young man who had hit her while under the influence.  There were no Purple Dragons or Foot to exact revenge on, no monster to go after...

She’d been there and gone—the victim of something so seemingly and horribly _normal._

Healing was slow and not without its difficulties.  The phrase “one day at a time” became Donatello’s mantra and he’d silently applaud himself and his family at the end of the day, simply because they’d made it through.  Days became easier and entire weeks would pass where Michelangelo could crack a smile and Raphael wouldn’t go out at night, opting to stay in.  Leonardo’s meditating hours decreased and things finally became semi-normal again, a tender scar covering a gaping hole in their lives.

Casey stayed in contact and for awhile dealt with his grief on his own until joining a grief support group for families of victims of drunk driving at Leonardo’s urging.  He was back on his feet and working at a garage and still going out with Raphael to bust skulls. 

The only thing that was still obvious but that no one changed was when Casey came by every few weeks for dinner in the lair, similar to how he and April had for years.  A place was set by Casey’s side and no one sat in it and no one commented on it.

They all knew why anyway.

The two year anniversary of April’s passing was coming soon and while Donatello doubted it would be easy ( _Would it ever?),_ he knew the pain would be slightly more manageable.  There were days when it seemed like she’d just been there and days where it felt like she’d been gone for a million years.

Days. It all came down to the day.

He flipped the photo over to read the back.  Michelangelo, of all people, had found the poem and scribbled it onto the back of the photo, leaving it for him on his desk.

_“_ _R_ _emember me when I am gone away,_

_Gone far away into the silent land;_

_When you can no more hold me by the hand,_

_Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay._

_Remember me when no more day by day_

_You tell me of our future that you plann'd:_

_Only remember me; you understand_

_It will be late to counsel then or pray._

_Yet if you should forget me for a while_

_And afterwards remember, do not grieve:_

_For if the darkness and corruption leave_

_A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,_

_Better by far you should forget and smile_

_Than that you should remember and be sad.”_

Donatello hadn’t understood the poem at first, confused about why Mikey thought April would want them to forget her.  Later, though, he’d understood, late at night when he’d been alone with his thoughts.  The poem was not about forgetting who had left—rather, it was about learning to live without the person who had left and getting on without them. April would have wanted them to keep on fighting and not to stop living on her account.

 

And that’s what Donatello reminded himself. Everyday.

 

****

Dinner with Casey for the most part was uneventful. Plans were discussed and it was decided that the annual trip out to the farmhouse would occur in about three weeks time—it would be right around Halloween but before the weather up north made reaching the farmhouse completely impossible. 

 

Leonardo pulled Donatello aside while he’d been cleaning up dishes and everyone else was distracted by Raphael and Casey regaling the tales of their previous take downs a few nights prior. 

 

“How is it going with the woman?” Leonardo asked, looking on worriedly. “Anything suspicious or odd you’ve noticed?”

 

Donatello hesitated a moment before responding.  His voice grew more confident with each word.  “Nothing much, to be honest. I might need some more time just to make absolutely sure. If there is anything, she does hide it well.”

 

Leonardo glanced at him oddly. “Raph mentioned going through her financial records...?”

 

 _And Raph says that Leo’s the nosy one..._ Donatello thought to himself and he nodded, answering Leo’s question. “I am.  You know, just to make sure there are no bribes or anything we can’t see.”

 

“Well,” Leonardo hesitated but continued on. “If you say so, Donny. Just—you know, be careful.”

 

There was unsaid tension in the air and Donatello wasn’t sure he liked what Leonardo may be implying with it. 

 

“She’s not April, Leo. I know that.”

 

Leonardo looked like he was about to say something else but nodded, walking away. “I know, Don. I know. Good luck with the surveillance.” He joined the rest of the family where Raphael was now fake sparring with Casey to demonstrate the moves the punks had.

 

For a moment, Donatello had to wonder at himself.

 

Was he taking it too far?


	5. Debate and Discussion

“Fuck,” Rebecca whispered quietly to herself, moving to backspace the ridiculous mumbo jumbo suddenly appearing on her screen from her book smashing into her keyboard.  Donatello glanced up from his place on the floor to raise an eyeridge at her movements and she gave him a sheepish smile.

 

The last three weeks had been overwhelmingly uneventful. Rebecca’s coursework for the semester was gradually increasing with each passing day. She’d started the part of the semester where she woke up in cold sweats and blind panic thinking she’d missed some crucial assignment or deadline.  _Only three to four more years_ , she thought sarcastically to herself, clearing her throat and returning to finish up the paragraph. 

 

Also over the last three weeks, Donatello had morphed into a frequent visitor to her apartment and Rebecca couldn’t say she minded the company.  Sometimes the pair of them worked in companionable silence and other times it was impossible for both to shut up depending on the nature of the conversation.  She was delighted to discover Donatello was rather intelligent (more intelligent than she would have given him credit for at first—being a mutant and all) and liked having interesting debates and discussions.  He often asked about her and her life.  So far, he’d learned about her childhood fears, how she came from a pretty normal family raised by her mother and father and a bratty little sister coming along when she was seven and she once dreamed of becoming a news reporter.  It was to the point where he knew precisely why she despised carrots and she was allergic to squash.

 

Sadly, however, Rebecca was not able to tell you much about Donatello.  The few times she attempted to steer the conversation in his direction or to ask questions about his family and origin, he’d shut down completely and change the subject.  It was to the point now where Rebecca gave up on learning anything more about him and instead kept to safer conversations about his work and current projects. 

 

And from what Rebecca had learned, it was _a lot._ There were times Donatello would be going on and on about the engineering of this property and how this particular chemical would oxidize into...

 

Needless to say, she perfected the art of looking both interested and like she actually understood the words coming out of his mouth.  On the other hand, Donatello had the patience of a saint and listened to Rebecca as she had droned on and on about her research and the papers she was working on for the semester.

 

The two were an odd pair, to say the least.

 

She closed the laptop, plucking her glasses off her face and decided the work she’d done tonight was enough for a weekday night.  Her glance looked towards Donatello who was hurriedly typing on his laptop, mouth quirked at an odd angle as he worked through some kind of puzzle.  She suppressed a giggle and slid onto the floor next to him, looking at the screen.

 

“What are you working on?” 

 

Donatello turned to give his floor mate a look.  She shot him a cheeky grin—it was fairly obvious early on that he was easily annoyed by people looking over his shoulder as he worked.  Thus, Rebecca made it a point to do it often, especially because the turtle still insisted on calling her Becca. 

 

“I’m working on an MCAT study guide,” he said, drifting his eyes back to the screen. 

 

“MCATs?” The confusion was evident in her voice. “Why are you studying for the MCATs?  It’s not like you can...” Her voice faded out, not wanting to voice out loud the obvious.

 

He chuckled, closing his laptop and turned to face her.  “I retake them every few years.  Just to keep my skills up.  You could say I’m the doctor of the family.”

 

“Interesting,” she contemplated this for a moment. “Do they get sick a lot?”  The question was an honest one—why would a family find it necessary to employ one of their own to be a makeshift medical professional? 

 

Per usual, he hesitated a bit before answering and she knew he was in the beginning stages of shutting down—like always.  “Hurt, actually...” he trailed off, quiet. “It’s the ninja thing.”

 

She only nodded, unsure of how to respond.  The awkward silence came over them like it often did in these situations and she moved quickly to offer a smile and a distraction.

 

“Well, they should be happy they have someone so smart looking out for them.”  She lightly patted his shoulder and stood up to grab a book sitting on her coffee table, handing it to him.  Donatello took the book and began flipping through it, sighing.

 

“This again?  Do we _really_ have to read it again?”  He bounced back a bit, eager for the change in conversation. Rebecca was happy she’d managed to keep him occupied. 

 

“Consider it furthering your literary education...” She grinned, fixing her ponytail. “Your choice. You pick this time.”

 

Donatello sighed, exasperated and thumbed through a few pages in the book, finally settling on one in particular. “Fine—here goes nothing...”

 

 _“I am not yours, not lost in you,_  
Not lost, although I long to be  
Lost as a candle lit at noon,  
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.  
  
You love me, and I find you still  
A spirit beautiful and bright,  
Yet I am I, who long to be  
Lost as a light is lost in light.  
  
Oh plunge me deep in love -- put out  
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,  
Swept by the tempest of your love,  
A taper in a rushing wind.”

He made a face at himself when he finished the last line, putting the book down next to him in disgust.  “Becca, I will never understand your fascination with this woman’s poetry.”  His eyes settled on her face and he was some amused to find her with her eyes closed, reciting the poem from heart.  Finishing with her quiet recitation, she opened her eyes, smiling.

 

“Because it’s beautiful. And tragic. The literary world has forgotten Sara Teasdale.”  Rebecca grabbed the book again and looked through a few more pages. “Don’t call me Becca.” She added the last part as an afterthought, thoroughly distracted by the book.

 

“She committed suicide like several other poets.  Nothing very special about that other than the bout of mental illness. And I like Becca. It suits you.”

 

A growl sounded from her throat and she eyed him above the pages of the book. “Rebecca suits me just fine. It’s my name.  Besides, stupid Tommy York called me “Becca Beastie” which then morphed into another name that begins with a ‘B’ by the time we started high school together.”

 

“I could call you that?” Donatello offered it as an alternative with a crooked grin and she smacked him with the book, laying it on the couch above them.

 

“No, thank you. Truly.”  Another book was plucked from her shelf and she brought it to rest between them. “Did you finish _Pride and Prejudice_? Finally?”

 

Nodding, he pulled the battered copy from his laptop case.  Even though he’d been in possession of the book for a few weeks now, his family’s attention had been focused on an intense ever-growing situation involving the Purple Dragon and an up and coming gang in the area.  Raphael pushed and persuaded Leonardo that the time to act was _now_ and when the turtles had busted into the supposed warehouse where the stolen items and goods were being held, there was nothing there.  Donatello’s attention had then shifted to setting up undercover operations and surveillance there but still, no such luck.  He hoped by the time they left for the farmhouse the upcoming weekend there might be a new lead.  Something was telling Donatello there was more to the situation than just stolen property—there was evidence that people, multiple people were residing in the warehouse.  The recorded conversations he’d managed to intercept were heavily encoded and it was taking him some time to crack it.

 

The book, for Donatello, had been...interesting, to say the least.  It took him a bit to become accustomed to the older English style of writing and he did find some parts of the book amusing. Darcy, in many ways, came across as a ‘douche’ (to borrow Mikey’s phrasing) and he had a hard time figuring out why Elizabeth ended up falling in love with him and marrying him. 

 

It was the stupid letter, though, in the book, Rebecca kept droning on and on about.  About how simply executed it was and how Darcy still wanted to explain himself to Elizabeth, despite the fact that she had turned him down coldly in his proposal for marriage.  Also combine that with the fact that he had saved her sister to the best of his ability from social ridicule.

 

Thank God Raph or Mikey hadn’t seen him reading the damn book—it was rubbing off on him.

 

Rebecca stroked the cover of the book, smiling wistfully. “ ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.’”

 

Donatello rolled his eyes and smirked slightly, mimicking her.  “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains.”

 

She glared at him, huffy, and crossed her arms. “Shut up. You didn’t have to read it.” She paused for a moment, looking worried and biting her lip. “You did like it, though?  If you didn’t, that’s okay—I mean, not everyone would like it.” Rebecca almost seemed hesitant to continue the conversation, truly concerned and believing Don did not like book.

 

Clearly, the girl was somewhat gullible and/or too sensitive.

 

He snorted at her and laughed. “Teasing, Becca. Just teasing. I did like it...it was just different. And Darcy was a bit of a jerk.”

 

“So was Elizabeth,” she countered, revived by the idea of a debate.  The excitement was starting to twinkle again in her eyes. “She went and judged Darcy without even knowing him – ,”

 

“All she had to go on were rumors going through society,” he shot back, instantly going through the book for quotes to prove his argument.  “And Darcy wasn’t exactly what one would call welcoming.” His fingers paused and he tapped the page with one finger for emphasis.  “See! In the party at Bingley’s house he said all those negative things about Elizabeth’s family.”

 

“Psht,” Rebecca waved her hand dismissively.  “He didn’t know Elizabeth was eavesdropping—like a sneak, I might add—and she was going to have to face the fact sooner or later her family didn’t fit into society very well.” Moving from her place on the floor, she grabbed her Marlboro Lights from the coffee table and walked across the small apartment to grab her lighter lying on a counter in the kitchen. “Besides, it’s not like she didn’t know her family was the odd man out in British nineteenth century.”  She meandered towards the back of the apartment and opened up her window, setting an ashtray on the window sill.  A cigarette came flowing out of the pack and she held it up to her lips, lighting it and positioned a small, oscillating fan on her face so the smoke from her first few puffs blew directly into the cool late October air.  Donatello watched the entire set up with a mix of annoyance and amusement.

 

“Most landlords prefer a smoke free apartment,” he stated, indicating a change in the topic of conversation.  He purposely made sure his sentence could be interpreted like a fact—not a hint that her smoking was a poor decision.

 

Rebecca rolled her eyes again and flicked a few sparks into her ashtray.  “I smoke outside the window—does that count for anything?”

 

“Not for much when you’re inhaling poison into your lungs.” Distaste was evident in his voice, disapproving but still amused she went to great lengths to avoid having smoke in her apartment.

 

Quirking her lips to the side, she let silence settle over the two of them for a minute before choosing to respond.  The silence allowed her to relish the sweet taste of her nicotine. “I’ve been smoking for awhile, Don.  We’ve all got to die someday anyway.”

 

“You could quit.”

 

She snorted—he made it sound so simple.

 

“I’ve tried, babe—trust me, I’ve tried.  It’s cheaper to _not_ smoke, after all.” Her fingers brushed over the cigarette as she let it dangle over the side of the ashtray.  Ticking off her fingers, she made a list. “Nicotine patch, nicotine gum, Chantix, acupuncture, and the coup de grace...hypnosis.” She wrinkled her face at the memory.  “The hypnotist was a freak, though, if you ask me.”

 

Donatello studied her.  “There’s always cold turkey.” Rebecca let out a barking laugh while she inhaled and exhaled again.  

 

“Unless you want to see mega-bitch, I don’t suggest that as a way to go, unfortunately.”

 

“Why, though? _Why_ do you smoke when you know about all the harm it does to your body?” Facts were facts as far as Donatello was concerned.  Logically, it made sense—why would a person spend money on drugs that in the end only succeeded in killing them?

 

She looked thoughtful and pondered his question.  He hadn’t asked it accusatorily—he sounded genuinely concerned someone like her easily plowed through a pack of cigarettes a day. 

 

Finally, she answered him, looking out the window at the lights glowing in the building across her street. “I was teased a lot in school—told I was too smart for my own good.  One day, I got sick of it—wanted to prove I wasn’t the goody two shoes everyone that I was.”  The memories of the taunts and laughs bubbled to the surface and she grew annoyed and inhaled again.  “I started smoking to show them I was a total badass.  Kind of backfired on me, didn’t it?”  She turned and shot him a wry smile, grounding her cigarette butt into the ashtray.  “It helps me deal with stress, too.  I can barely string together a sentence when I’m working on papers because I _need_ to have the nicotine to concentrate.”

 

“...You could still quit.” His arms were crossed, watching her.  She moved back into the apartment and closed the window, turning off the fan. 

 

“One day, I will,” she promised, sitting on her bed. “I just can’t right now. Eventually, I will—once I work up the strength.”  The bangs on the side of her face blew up as she exhaled a sudden puff of air, desperately seeking a different direction for the current conversation.

 

“You’re not going to see me much in the next few weeks,” Donatello offered, subtly shifting their talk.

 

Rebecca looked up at him surprised...and slightly saddened.  “Oh...secret ninja type stuff?”  It wouldn’t do to lie—even though she had known the turtle for a short period of time, she’d become accustomed to their little routine of him stopping by later at night every few days.  Gradually, those days had been increasing and she found herself spending less time at the library because she wanted to be in her apartment to be working on _something_ while Donatello visited with her.

 

It...it was still a friendship. But, just a _different_ one.  She had him all to herself...and she liked it that way.

 

Though, there was still a portion of her mind where she thought she had seriously lost her mind and she was having delusional episodes involving a humanoid turtle.  But, she didn’t like to think about that possibility.

 

He chuckled slightly and walked over to her door to secure his belt around his shell and to put his bo staff in its place on his back.  “I wish.  We—well, I’m going to spend some time away from the city. To...to visit a friend.”

 

A small twinge of jealousy made its presence known in Rebecca’s mind.  She had been the only friend she knew of, aside from his family....or so she thought.

 

 _It could be possible he knows other people,_ she thought. _Maybe other people he’s helped like me._

 

_Selfish to think that way, anyway, Rebecca._

“Well,” she pouted, batting her eyelashes to look silly. “I suppose I’ll have no one around to keep me in check.”

 

“Make sure you get that paper outline finished,” he wagged a finger at her, as he came close to where she sat on her bed, his backpack perched on his shoulder, indicating he was getting ready to leave.

 

Rebecca rolled her eyes at him and stood up, adjusting her pajama bottoms and hoodie.  “I will, I’m almost done anyway. But...well, I’ll miss you.”  She said the last part awkwardly.  It was unsure to her whether or not she was overstepping any boundaries—the two hadn’t necessarily discussed entering into a friendship.

 

He looked surprised this time and nodded to her. “I’ll miss you too, but I’m not going to be gone for too long.” Thoughtful contemplation came over his face.  He reached into his belt and held out an odd looking walkie talkie.  She blinked at the object, turning it over in her hands.

 

“Don...you shouldn’t have.” Her brows furrowed and she tugged at it lightly. “Really—you shouldn’t have.”

 

Donatello rolled his eyes at her this time and grabbed the shell cell out from her hands and opened it for her. “A cell phone—I designed it myself.  You can program your number in there—I can text.”

 

“Oh!” A blush of embarrassment colored her cheeks and she gingerly typed out her number and name, making certain to input herself as ‘Rebecca’ into the phone.  “I didn’t realize—most cell phones these days, are just...well...you know...”

 

“I’ve got prototypes of newer ones at home.” He sounded slightly irritated like she was questioning his skills. “Just haven’t had time to get them fully tested.”

 

She handed the shell cell back to him, watching him fire off a text to her phone so she had his number.  “You could just...buy iPhones and modify them.”

 

He scoffed at her, shaking his head with a smirk. “Far too easy for me, Becca.” Donatello gave her a slight wink and wrenched her window open.  “I’ll be back soon—give it a week or more.”

 

She nodded to him, stretching across her bed on her stomach to watch him. “Have a good trip!” Rebecca managed a small wave and a smile to him, resting her face in one of her hands.  “...Keep safe.” It couldn’t hurt to add the last part, she thought—just in case.

 

He nodded to her and shot her a quick smile before disappearing through the open window, into the cool night air.  She waited a few moments before mustering up the energy to go and close her window.  Picking up her phone off the bed, she tapped around on the screen to pull up the text Don had sent her, expecting a simple ‘Hi.’

 

Instead, it said:

 

_Quit. Smoking._

 

She growled and her fingers flew across the screen, typing out a reply.

 

****

 

Donatello was leaping up to Rebecca’s roof when he shell cell vibrated by his side.  He pulled it out upon reaching the roof, curious as to who might be trying to reach him.  Only two words appeared on his screen, the top portion indicating it was Rebecca’s response to his text.

 

_Fuck. You._

He laughed and made his way across the roof to leap onto the next one.  After shooting a reply to her, he steadied himself to make the jump, when movement to his left caught his eye. He stopped, glancing over and was startled a bit when a familiar pair of eyes stared back at him.

 

“Betcha now you hadn’t showed me how to work that tracking device, huh Donny?” The voice held a hint of laughter to it and Donatello could feel the smirk working its way across its face.


	6. Talking is Good for the Soul

A familiar face covered with an orange masked grinned and twirled one of his nunchucks like it was a second limb and then held up the tracker Donatello had designed.

 

Michelangelo. Of course.

 

Donatello struggled for words, trying to think of the best way to explain this but the grin on Mikey’s face said it all.

 

He was going to have one hell of a time trying to explain away this one.

 

“Leo was wondering where you were and then I remembered you mentioned something about surveillance on the Purple Dragons.  Told him I’d do him a favor and check up on you so he didn’t have to do it himself,” the younger turtle grinned at his brother, setting his weapon back in his belt.  “I was _completely_ shocked to find you here, with a _girl_ no less,” Michelangelo winked at him and Donatello groaned.

 

The truth was Donatello had done some surveillance on the Purple Dragons tonight.  Straightening a few well placed cameras and recording devices, though, had taken much less time then he’d thought.  For a few extra hours, he meandered about in the area, determined to try to catch something but, alas, there was still no sign of activity.  Hun’s influence on the Purple Dragons was a positive one, at least for the gang—they were far more efficient and orderly than in the past.

 

Let it be said—Donatello, in spite of his growing fondness for Rebecca, would never purposely walk out on an important mission to spend time with her.  He enjoyed her company, that was for certain, but his duties and his honor came first, above all else.  However, when he decided to head home for the night, it just so happened that he had to pass by the block her apartment was situated on and he just so happened to have his laptop with him that meant he could take care of some things while hanging out with her.  It was the smart thing to do—he was killing two birds with one stone.

 

His family finding out about the specifics on Rebecca, though? No, that hadn’t been in the plans at all.

 

“Mikey,” Donatello was annoyed and rubbed his temples with his fingers. “Y—you can’t tell Leo yet—I will soon, just not yet.”

 

“Dude, I’ve totally got you covered,” his younger brother waved his hand, jumping with ease onto the other rooftop, Donatello following behind him. “Twenty bucks and pizza three nights next week will _definitely_ make sure I’m covered.”

 

 _Bribery,_ thought Donatello. _Why am I not surprised?_

“She’s a cute one, Donny.  I peeked through the window while you were with her. But, dude, she does this _weeeeird_ thing with her lips when she’s typing on her laptop –.”

Donatello sighed and slapped a hand across his forehead. “You were _spying_ on us—more specifically, _her_?

 

“Psht, yeah,” Michelangelo straightened his bandana and began the descent down a ladder into an alley below.  “I needed to see who was responsible for distracting my older brother—Becky’s her name, right? Raph told me you were _totally_ stalking her. Way to win the ladies over...”

 

“She’s a friend, Mikey, and her name is Rebecca, not Becky. She hates nicknames.”

 

“Don’t you mean ‘ _Becca?’_ ” Michelangelo’s light blue eyes sparkled with mirth while he lifted the manhole cover, making kissy noises.

 

“...So you were eavesdropping too? Thanks, Mike—really, thanks.” The purple clad turtle was clearly irritated and rapidly climbed down the ladder into the sewer, close to fuming.

 

Michelangelo followed behind him, pulling the manhole cover over.  “Aw, dude—don’t be like that.  I think it’s really cool you’ve made a friend since...well, since April.” Mikey, surprisingly, had been one of the first of the brothers to readjust to life without April.  It wasn’t that he hadn’t missed her or mourned but he knew April would have wanted him to get back to life as quickly as possible.  The best way to honor their late friend, Michelangelo determined, was to learn to live without her and remember her fondly.

 

Donatello stopped walking at the mention of April’s name and his fists tightened a bit. “She’s not April.”  He was tense and Michelangelo swallowed, careful to choose his next words.

 

“Dude, no one could ever be April,” he spoke quietly, watching Donatello closely. “You gotta admit it, though—it doesn’t hurt to meet new people.  I haven’t seen you laugh like that in a long time—even at me.” There was a slight chuckle—Mikey’s attempt inserting some humor into the situation.

 

The older of the two stood still for a moment, taking deep breaths.  The two year anniversary of April’s passing was beginning to weigh down on him and he suddenly felt guilty for the time he was spending with Rebecca.  She wasn’t April—not even close.  She couldn’t talk science (he’d seen the glazed look in her eyes when he did), she wasn’t great with computers aside from knowing how to use the task manager like a pro and she _smoked_ for God’s sake.

 

“Hey,” Michelangelo touched his shoulder lightly, giving it a soft pat. “Do yourself a favor and don’t compare them—Rebecca is Rebecca and April is April. They just both happen to be female and enjoy spending time with you.”

 

It was the moments like this that surprised Donatello the most.  While Mikey was certainly the more free spirited out of the turtles, he was also the most empathetic and the one most likely to read your mind.  Normally, it irritated Donatello to no end, but right now?

 

“Thanks Mikey,” he covered his brother’s hand with his own, still on his shoulder. “I appreciate it.”

Michelangelo grinned again and gave him a thumbs up with his free hand. “No problem, dude!  But, I really should be giving you advice on how to ask her out—a few lessons from the Mikester and she’ll be _begging_ you to take her -.”

 

“Shut up,” Donatello grunted, making a face. “Don’t even go there—she’s a friend, nothing more.  Leo would _kill_ us if we even thought about it.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Michelangelo removed his hand from his brother’s shoulder and suddenly shot off like a bat out of hell down the sewer corridor. “Last one home has to make Sensei’s tea in the morning!”

 

“Hey! Wait!” He took after him, growling. “You got a head start—not fair!”

 

While Donatello ran after his brother, though, one thought refused to leave his mind.

 

_Lying on the couch, her head on his lap, stroking her hair..._

 

Only friends, after all.

 

Right?

 

***

 

The late afternoon traffic buzzed by in a flurry of noise outside the cafe where Rebecca and her friend were seated.  The sun provided some much needed warmth to the chilly fall weather and she was confused why Sara had insisted on sitting outside for their coffee meeting—the environment was certainly not conducive to a quiet, intimate conversation between friends.

 

“So, I told him—you want to keep on playing this game, I’m going to walk away - ,” Sara gushed, using her arms for added emphasis.  Sara and Rebecca had gone to undergrad together and now both resided in New York City. Instead of becoming a starving graduate student, Sara became a well-paid paralegal to a respectable up and coming firm in New York City.  Their schedules were often hectic with Sara holding down a full time job and Rebecca wrestling with piles of school work but they tried to fit in a coffee date once every few weeks to catch up.  Mostly, Rebecca just listened to Sara and chimed in with her two cents every now and then—it worked out.

 

Sighing, she took a sip of her coffee, nodding in tandem every few words to Sara’s and her phone vibrated abruptly in her pocket.  Slightly excited, she pulled it out to study it and laughed to herself at the words on the screen, with the name ‘Don’ in front of them.

 

_I’m going to kill someone._

 

Rebecca looked to see Sara was still lost in her dramatic tale and she rapidly shot off another text to Donatello.

 

_Is the long road trip getting to you? Remember, the woods provide excellent places to hide bodies._

To be honest, she wasn’t sure where Donatello was going, only that he’d mentioned he would be leaving the city and there were lots of places to go outside of NYC where trees and grass were in abundance.  A few days had passed since she’d last seen him and their text conversations increased the longer he was on the road, traveling to his final destination.  She assumed he was with his family but per usual, she hadn’t asked too many questions.

 

Her phone vibrated again in her hand and she read the text, stifling another giggle.

 

_Someone might actually miss this person. Besides, there would be witnesses. I had NO IDEA it was possible for someone to vomit this much._

Rebecca’s fingers tapped across the screen, typing a response, when the phone was suddenly wrenched out of her grasp. She looked around wildly only to realize Sara had the phone and was scrolling through it.  She appeared to be both annoyed and curious at Rebecca’s obvious distraction.

 

“I needed to see who you were texting because you certainly weren’t listening to me. Very rude,” Sara said, reading. “Who the hell is Don? And...wow. He’s been blowing up your phone over the last few days.”  She scrolled through a few more texts and her eyebrows shot up. “Did you two _seriously_ get into a debate on the Scientific Revolution?”

 

“Yes!” Rebecca squeaked, making a grab for her phone but Sara only held it out of reach, reading more.

 

“And now he’s texting you about vomit?” Sara looked at her disgusted and threw the phone back onto the table.  “You sleeping with him? Seems like your type.”

 

Rebecca sputtered and seized the phone, shoving it into her pocket, thus leaving the text unanswered. “I am _not._ He’s only a friend, Sara. Jeez.” She rolled her eyes, taking a long sip of her coffee.

 

“You can be friends with a fuck buddy.”

 

She choked on the large gulp of coffee she’d taken and launched into a coughing fit.  After wiping her face off with a napkin and taking a swig from the water bottle she carried, Rebecca glared at her friend.  “It’s not like that—not even close.”

 

Sara sipped her coffee thoughtfully, raising another eyebrow at her friend. “Not attractive enough? I could understand that—but you need to get laid, Rebecca! There’s a ton of cute guys at grad programs at NYU—Sabrina and Deanna have told me that much.  You should try to hook up with some of them - .”

 

“Not interested,” Rebecca stated firmly, putting her water bottle back inside of her bag.  “School takes up a lot of time—it’s a miracle that I even managed to get out here to see you for a coffee date.”

 

Sara sighed, taking a quick bite of the scone she’d gotten with her coffee. “You just like to make a lot of excuses.” She looked suspicious, eyeing Rebecca. “How’d you meet this Don guy anyway?  Normally, you’d be all over telling us but on this one...you’re quiet.  Very odd...” Sara grinned evilly, wiping her face with a napkin.

 

_He’s a giant ninja turtle and we met when he offered to fix my car but I thought he was a serial rapist and/or pervert at first. Would you like me to admit myself to the psych ward or did you want to have me committed yourself?_

 

“He helped me with some car trouble one night, when I was trying to leave school,” Rebecca lied easily.  “Nice guy—we hit it off— _as friends_ ,” she added quickly at the spark of teasing in Sara’s eyes.

 

During Donatello’s first few visits, not much was said between him and Rebecca regarding his appearance and secrecy—it was an unacknowledged fact she probably shouldn’t be running around telling people about mutants living in the city.  Good things never happened when those sorts of things got out to the mass public anyway—X-Men being a prime example, in her opinion.

 

“When can we meet him, then?  Maybe one of us would want to take a shot at him! Not fair to keep the chivalrous ones to yourself - .”

 

“Bad skin condition. Bad, bad, _bad_ skin condition,” she interjected hurriedly.  “Also, he’s a med student—he can’t do much to get away from his studies. They consume his time—I barely ever see him.” She was grasping at straws, concocting this cockamamie story about Don the Med Student. His looking at the MCAT study guides provided the only excuses she could think of at the moment.  After all, he sort of was a doctor—he just didn’t have the necessary formal education required by the rest of the non-mutant world.

 

Sara only blinked at Rebecca, puzzled. “Good grief—you must really not want us to meet him! Are his looks that bad?”

 

She frowned at the question.  Was Donatello...handsome?  Rebecca didn’t feel like she could be a good judge of that—he wasn’t human, after all.  She was preprogrammed to some extent to find other members of the human race pleasing. Some _human_ men were attractive...but a giant, mutated turtle? 

 

“He has a nice personality?” Rebecca managed, sounding unsure.  It wasn’t a fib—Donatello’s sarcasm and dry sense of humor had appealed to her instantly and made it easier to talk to him.  The shell and green skin unfortunately made it hard to forget he was a turtle at times.  But, occasionally, the way he could shoot her a look or debate some intense philosophical point...

 

It was difficult to make sense of, really.

 

“Ouch,” Sara teased, smirking. “I never thought you were shallow.”

 

“I’m not!” Rebecca exclaimed, flabbergasted. “I—well, he does have a nice personality and we do have some nice conversations...” she trailed off, thinking.  Within a moment, her eyes refocused and she shook her head, as if ridding herself of her thoughts and remembering she was in the present, with Sara. 

 

“It’s hard to explain,” she snapped, glaring. “No more about Don—it’s none of your business.”  Waving her hand, she gestured to back to Sara, agitated. “Enough about me—what’s going on again with Bill the Dick?”

 

It took Sara a minute to recover from Rebecca’s hasty mood swing but she simply shrugged and went along with the change in conversation.  After knowing Rebecca over the years, one learned to simply roll with the punches.

 

The rest of the day, until falling asleep that night, Rebecca was bothered by her inability to answer Sara’s question, replaying the conversation over and over again in her head.  Perhaps she wasn’t as open minded as she thought...?

 

****

Northampton, Massachusetts was having a more frigid autumn than in years past.  In spite of this, crisp gold and red leaves still clung to the trees with a fierce desperation, determined to not fall before their time.  The scattered warm fall colors dotted the landscape in rolling hills eerily similar to a New England landscape painting. 

 

Donatello trudged through a familiar path in the woods, fallen leaves crunching noisily beneath his feet.  His family and Casey had arrived a few days ago deciding to stay for a week or two instead of the previous weekend trip.  Fresh air and sunshine would be hard to come by once winter hit NYC and Splinter thought they could do with the small break before cabin fever would inevitably hit them as it always did during the colder months.  Michelangelo and Casey were in town, picking up items for an elaborate dinner menu Mikey had put together.  Raphael and Leonardo were in the barn where the original intention to have a complex training session had degenerated into a sparring and wrestling match. When Donatello saw them last, Leonardo had Raphael in a headlock, a rare grin working its way across the leader’s face.  Splinter was settled at the house with a pile of books, catching up on some reading the solitude of the farmhouse provided for concentration.

 

It was the first time since their arrival that everyone was occupied in some way or another.  Donatello had decided it was the perfect time for him to escape for some private time. He suspected his brothers and the others did this on their own when they visited—there would be moments over the next few days where one of them or another would disappear for an hour or two.  No one questioned it and no questions were asked when the missing one returned.  It was a silent realization everyone noted—each one had to pay their respects in their own way.

 

The trail ended and Donatello smiled sadly at the familiar sight of the oak tree in the center of a small field.  Sometimes he regretted they had not placed her closer to the house but she had always liked this spot.  More than once, Donatello had spotted her in this field, standing beneath the tree wrapped in her robe and a steaming cup of coffee, watching the light touch the surrounding hills and tree tops.  Fall had been her favorite season here—the colors providing their own unique works of art—very different from the antiques she collected.  “Nature’s own artistic palate,” she called it.

 

She explained to him once her father had kept a swing on this tree before she was too old for such things.  He would come with her to this very spot, she described with a sad smile, and push her on it in the mornings so they could watch the sunrise together.  Donatello had seen pictures of her in her youth, uncontrollable red curls around a pale, freckled face.  Her very being was imprinted here and it hadn’t seemed right to put her in any other place.

 

The simple tombstone sat, silent and gray in front of the tree and he knelt in front of it, brushing aside the fallen leaves.  The engraving was simple but articulate.

 

_April O’Neil_

_Beloved Partner, Sister and Friend_

_“To know even one life breathed easier_  
because she lived is to know she  
truly succeeded while here.”

He smiled sadly and laid the bouquet of red and pink carnations he carried in front of it, moving aside the ones left a few months before.  Donatello would make sure to bring the older bouquet back to the house to make sure it was properly disposed of.  Someone else had already been to visit, it seemed—a small arrangement of yellow chrysanthemums lay next to the grave marker.

 

Donatello’s brown eyes became teary and he laid a hand on the marker, touching it lightly.

 

“Hi April.  I’ve missed you.”

 

A few tears fell from his eyes, blurring his sight.


	7. Jealousy Burns

Rebecca was quite certain she no longer had a gag reflex.

 

The young woman lay on the tile of her bathroom floor, rather enjoying the feel of the cool tile beneath her face.  Her face felt far too hot and she knew if she looked into the mirror, she would certainly scream.  She hadn’t even bathed in what...two days now?

 

November had arrived to NYC with a dramatic decrease in temperature and while Rebecca was equipped to deal with unpredictable weather (it was the east coast after all), she hadn’t been prepared for the sudden days where the wind chill was making it feel like it was thirty-two degrees.  Her body had a tendency to never adjust well to rapid changes in temperature and as a result, she had a scratchy throat almost immediately upon the descent of the cold front.  Within the next day and a half, the scratchy throat had blossomed into a torture device and she was running what she believed to be a high temperature. It was hard to determine, however, because the graduate student did not own any thermometers other than the one she’d recklessly bought to test the temperature of meat. Mind you, she never actually cooked.

 

Today, though...today the vomiting had started, along with the chills and shakes.  Luckily, most of her assignments were halfway started and her professors were somewhat understanding about her absences—showing up in person to discuss them had seemed to do the trick, with one of them mentioning she “looked like death.”  Rebecca disagreed—death certainly would look better because it would bring sweet relief from the way she was feeling right now.

 

Most of the day had been spent in her bathroom, the window to her apartment thrown open because it was _so fucking hot_ despite the freezing temperatures outside.  Anytime she left the bathroom to grab a cold water from the fridge or a measly cracker to put her in her empty stomach, she would be running back to the toilet within seconds to empty the sustenance she dared put in her body. Her TV blared in the background from when she had switched it on hours ago as a distraction—unfortunately, it was difficult to enjoy the distraction when she was practically living in her bathroom.

 

Rebecca drew her knees up to her chest, shaking as a set of chills overtook her body and let out a soft moan.  The announcer from some fast food commercial was now describing in agonizing _graphic detail_ the ingredients on a famous cheeseburger and pickle sandwich. The mere mention of food made her nauseous.  Lifting herself up off the floor, she was leaned against the toilet and heaved what little was left in her system.

 

In the midst of her bout of illness, Rebecca thought she heard a familiar knocking on the window but she shook her head at herself, laying back down on the tile. _Hallucinations...just what I need,_ she thought, closing her eyes to drown out the pounding in her head. 

 

Again, she heard knocking and the sound of someone entering the apartment, calling her name softly.  Her friends knew she was on the brink of death and to stay away—she felt for her phone by her side and pulled it up, befuddled as to who could be visiting.  She tried to focus her eyes—several missed calls and text messages from...Don.  Her eyes widened and she immediately brought up the log with his information in it, reading through it quickly.  Fuck—he had texted her _two_ days ago saying he was back in town.  Another text mentioned he wouldn’t be able to come by for a day or two as he took care of some things at home. Each text was progressively more frantic with the final one time-stamped from about half an hour ago.

 

_I’m coming over. Now._

Almost on cue, she made out the shadow of a familiar turtle on the wall near the door of her bathroom, leaning in, calling out her name.  It was louder this time and sounding...angry? Scared? Rebecca couldn’t really tell.

 

Weakly, she called out to him, “Don...I’m in here.” She contemplated standing up to greet him but sitting up tended to make her dizzy which then led to vomit—so, she stayed where she was, enjoying the relief the tile brought her.

 

“Becca?” She squinted enough to see him kneeling down next to her, looking worried and frenzied. “Did someone hurt you?”  His face was suddenly up against hers and she moaned, moving back. Too close.

 

“Sick,” she managed, pointing delicately to the toilet.  Donatello scooted over to glance into the toilet and winced, flushing the debris down.  Rebecca made an embarrassed sound, watching him crawl back over to her. She hadn’t bathed in two days, her hair resembled a rat’s nest and she was wearing the oldest sweat pants she owned with a hole in the crotch. 

 

She was really up for entertaining company.

 

“Becca?” Donatello said again, leaning down next to her.  She felt his hand brush against her forehead for a moment and he pulled it back, clucking his tongue.  He took her wrist in his larger fingers and pressed against it, counting softly.  She would have laughed if she had the energy—he was actually taking her pulse.  He let go after a moment and tried helping her up so she was sitting up instead of laying on the tiled floor.

 

Donatello slipped himself behind her, hauling her up against the front of his plastron.  “You’re burning up—why didn’t you call me?!”  _Oh God, the world is dizzy._ She blinked a few times trying to right the room.  “And it’s freezing in here, Rebecca—how do you expect to get better when you aren’t keeping warm?!”  _Uh oh...first name._

“It was hot,” she whimpered, curling into him a bit. He was colder than her floor since he’d just come in front the outside.

 

“Did you get a flu shot?  I’m fairly certain you have the flu—how’s your throat?  Pupil dilation seems fine...”  He continued on, muttering to himself as he examined her. Rebecca couldn’t really bring herself to care at the moment—the only thing that mattered was how cool his body felt next to hers.

 

“Hate needles,” she said quietly.  “I don’t normally get this sick when the weather changes...”

 

“You should still get one!” Donatello snapped, looking around wildly. “Do you even own a thermometer?—I could make a better diagnosis if I knew your exact body temperature.”

 

“Don’t own one,” she whispered.  “Only have a meat thermometer and that’s not going to help us very much.” Rebecca laughed clumsily at herself, the movement causing her head to whirl around again and the familiar nausea took over. “Oh God - .”  She was out of Donatello’s arms in a split second and hunched over the toilet again, vomiting.  In between heaves, she winced from the pain in her muscles—vomiting on and off all day was taking a toll on her.

 

She felt Donatello’s hand come up around her neck and she didn’t understand why he was there. This was fucking gross—the vomit was just brown and grey now—pure acid.  He began pulling back her tangled hair—haphazardly thrown into a bun, most of which was falling out now—and tightened it, making a mock ponytail.  He whispered to her soothingly and while she couldn’t make out what he said, it was oddly comforting to her.  When she finished after a minute or so, she laid her head down on the porcelain, careful not to move too much. Donatello continued to rub her back and pulled her hair down from the bun, placing the hair tie next to them on the floor.

 

“You should take a shower,” he stated firmly in low tones.  “Keep it cool—not too hot or cold.  Lukewarm. Try to get your hair washed and some of your body.” He stood up, leaving her for a second and brought over the robe hanging on the back of her door. “Put this on when you’re done.  I’ll go find you some clean clothes.” He folded the robe neatly on the back of her sink and left, giving her a small smile and he shut the door with a click. 

 

It was all Rebecca could do to get herself off the floor and into the shower stall next to her. 

 

Something told her Donatello would be keeping a listen out if she were to fall.

 

***

Donatello heard the shower running after a few minutes and sighed with some relief.  At least Rebecca had managed that task.  He hadn’t said it aloud but she truly looked...well, horrible.  Her skin was a sickly pale and her hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in days.   The excuses made to Leonardo in order to sneak away to check on her weren’t easy—Donatello had become increasingly distraught and moody after not hearing from Rebecca for two days.  During his time at the farmhouse, there had never been more than a three or four hour gap in-between messages—so, to suddenly have two days go by without so much as a single worded text message was startling.

 

He didn’t dare allow himself to think of the consequences until he arrived at her apartment tonight—the TV blaring and finding her lying on the bathroom floor, not moving rocked him to his core. 

 

 _You’re lucky Purple Dragons didn’t find her_ , he thought, immediately shutting off that part of his brain. He wasn’t going to worry about the ‘what ifs’ tonight—that was Leo’s job.

 

His family had returned with Casey to NYC only a few days ago and Donatello had spent most of his time since then going over recorded conversations and emails from the Purple Dragons collected while they were away.  It was still difficult to determine what precisely was occurring with the gang but he found himself getting closer and closer to cracking the code which dictated many emails and text messages.  The oddest thing about the entire situation were the sudden overseas contacts and names he kept coming across.  His computer at the lair was currently undergoing an intense hacking process to enter INTERPOL’s database so he could do a search on some of the names.  However, their security was stronger than most and it would be several more hours until he would have access to the necessary information. 

 

The TV continued to blare, distracting him from his thoughts and he switched off, slightly annoyed.  While he enjoyed TV on occasion, the way Mikey and Raph  watched it constantly was a never-ending annoyance for him.  He walked over to the wardrobe in front of her bed and opened the door, peering inside.  A few drawers were on the bottom and a few dresses and tops hung in the closet part on the top.  Hesitatingly, he opened a drawer here or there until he came across a clean pair of yoga pants, and a NYU t-shirt.  The underwear part was nerve-wracking but he simply kept reminding himself of the times he and his brothers had helped around the house when April was sick or away on trips.  Hell, he’d even helped Casey do her laundry once—surely he could handle this.

 

An innocent pair of pink boycut briefs found their way into a folded pile of clothes, hidden beneath the shirt and pants so it wasn’t abundantly obvious he had rooted through her underwear drawer.  After placing the pile of clothes neatly by the door of the bathroom, he realized he hadn’t included a bra...more than likely she probably didn’t need one and he certainly wasn’t going to be going THAT route at this point.  Raphael had mentioned once or twice that Casey had let it slip April despised wearing the things when she was around the house...It was sad sometimes when Donatello realized his only experiences with the human female race were limited to April (not counting the various female mutants and aliens over the last few years and Karai). 

 

Stepping into her kitchen, he went through a few cabinets and found a small package of crackers opened and already resting on the table.  Clearly, Rebecca had been trying to eat something but it wasn’t staying down.  He frowned and took a few crackers out, placing them on a plate.  Another search through her cabinets revealed a random, unopened box of green tea bags.  An older model kettle rested on her stove and he filled it with water, placing it on the stove to boil.  While he and Leonardo often competed for the title of ‘worst cook’ in the family, he could at least boil water for tea—each of his brothers and himself had done it for years for Splinter.

 

Donatello settled at the small table in the kitchen and glared annoyingly at the cigarettes and ashtray sitting on it.  He picked up the Marlboro Lights and tossed them into the trashcan in the corner. Certainly, she wouldn’t notice them missing for a few days while she was sick.

 

The shower clicked off, finally, and he watched the door to the bathroom open and Rebecca stood there, a bit unsteady on her feet. Her robe was wrapped tightly around her body and she leaned against the door frame for support. A long, messy braid of her wet, dirty blonde hair fell forward onto her shoulder and she looked at Donatello.

 

“Clothes?” She managed meekly, glancing around.  He was on his feet in an instant, handing her the pile from the floor.  “Thanks,” she breathed and she turned back into the bathroom. 

 

While she changed, Donatello went over to the window and closed it, leaving it open just a crack for some fresh air.  A quick look at her thermostat told him she did not have the heat on a proper setting and he turned it up, determined to keep her warm and comfortable.  He heard her step out from the bathroom again and he hurried over, wrapping an arm around her waist as he guided her to the table.

 

Rebecca chuckled lightly, shoving at his arms. “I can walk, you know.” He placed her at the table just as the kettle whistled.  He poured the water into two mugs she had, bringing both over to the table to allow the tea bags to seep.

 

“You should eat something,” he stated, moving his tea bag around in the mug and sat down beside her.  “It might help settle your stomach.”

 

“Ugh,” she made a disgusted sound and pushed the crackers away.  The shower, Donatello noticed, had done a little to make her look better.  Her skin was still terribly pale but there was more color in her cheeks and her hair looked shiny and clean.  “I’ve tried eating those today—kept throwing them up.”

 

Donatello sighed and pulled the plate back in front her. “Just one? Please? And drink your tea—I didn’t even know you had green tea.”

 

Rebecca wrinkled her nose and held the mug up to her lips, taking a tentative sip. “Friend bought it for me to try to relax. I’m not crazy about the stuff.”   She swallowed, making a face at the slightly bitter taste. “Yuck—can I add some sugar to this?”

 

“ _No,_ ” he enunciated, eyeing her. “Sugar would only make you worse.  Eat. A. Cracker.” The words were forced out through gritted teeth and he held a cracker out in his hand, placing it right in front of her face.

 

She sighed and took it, nibbling on it and she took another sip of the tea slowly. “Fine...whatever you say ‘Dr. Don.’” Rebecca gave him an annoyed gaze but then frowned, biting her lip. “I...you don’t have to do this,” she said suddenly, looking embarrassed.  “I appreciate it and all but you just watched me vomit and then had to pick out my underwear...” She trailed off, a blush dusting her cheeks.

 

Ah—so she _had_ noticed the underwear.  Donatello shook his head, setting his tea down on the table. “It’s nothing, really.  I’ve seen way worse from my family—believe me.”

 

“I know,” she said, staring into her tea and placing half of the eaten cracker back on the plate. “I—you were gone for awhile and I don’t expect you to spend your evening with me when you could be...somewhere else.  I’m afraid I’ll be boring company for you tonight...”

 

Donatello watched her for a moment and then put a hand on her shoulder, causing her to look up at him, surprised at the unexpected contact. He gave her an easy smile.  “You’re my friend, Becca.  You could never be boring company—I promise.”

 

She blinked at him as if shocked by his kindness and then returned his smile. “Thank you, Donny,” she responded, warmed by his compassion.  His heart skipped a beat at the use of the somewhat childish nickname—it was the first time he recalled hearing her say it.  They stayed that way for several moments, smiling at each other until Rebecca launched into a coughing fit. 

 

His hand moved from her shoulder to rub her back.  The poor thing sounded like she was going to hack up a lung.

 

“Sorry,” she said, gasping for air and taking a gulp of her tea when she finished. “The coughing is...new.”

 

“Tylenol,” he insisted, standing up to fish through her cabinets again. “It would help with that.” He rustled around a few more things before plucking a bottle down on the table. “There—take that every few hours.”

 

“Can I ask you a stupid question?” She blurted out, fiddling with the mug in her hands.

 

Donatello blinked at her and nodded, tilting his head. “Of course—anything.”

 

“I’m a big baby when I’m sick,” she started, tracing a finger around the top of her mug. “C—could you stay with me, tonight? Until I fall asleep?”  Rebecca’s face remained down, staring intently at the mug.

 

He faltered, startled by such a simple request.  She reminded him of Michelangelo—his younger brother never dealt well with being sick or badly injured and someone in the family generally remained by his side, in shifts.  It got to be annoying and irritating at times but everyone accepted it as a part of Mikey’s personality.  It was surprising to Donatello how Rebecca was similar in some ways.

 

He didn’t realize how long it had been until Rebecca spoke again, sighing. “Sorry—dumb request.  I mean, you’re only a - .”

 

“Friend,” he finished for her, patting her arm.  He shot her a small smile and her eyes looked up to meet his.  “Of course I’ll stay—and I’ll be completely non-judgmental about it.” 

 

Rebecca grinned, despite her feeling icky, and launched herself into his arms, giving him a tight hug.  Donatello tensed, staring at her in disbelief for a few moments but then returned it, his arms holding her close.

 

“Don’t laugh at me,” she murmured against the crook of his neck, “but I missed you a lot, you stupid turtle.  I hope the friend you visited was worth leaving me.” The tone was light and it was meant to be a teasing remark.  However, he tensed immediately and his thoughts rushed back to who they had left behind at the farmhouse, buried in the cold ground.

 

Rebecca felt the subtle change in his body language and leaned back into her chair, searching his eyes. “Don? Is everything okay?”

 

Donatello let go of her and sighed, taking a swig of the green tea, wishing it was something stronger.  He could easily lie now and she would never have to know about April.  She could remain locked away in his mind and in the collective memory of his family, never to see the light of day.  It would be odd to talk about her with a stranger, someone who didn’t understand what April meant to them. 

 

But then she looked at him with such concerned eyes—green, he noticed—and it surprised him.  In all the conversations and laughter between them over the last few weeks, he’d never even cared to notice the dark green color of her eyes. 

 

He took a deep breath and felt for her hand, holding it tightly in his own.  The feeling of it gave him a concrete feeling of reality—this was not an easy story to tell.  Rebecca’s other hand brushed up against theirs together, rubbing a thumb over it lightly.

 

“Don?” she whispered nervously, her eyes darting back and forth.

 

Donatello took another breath and opened his mouth, his voice cracking slightly. “Let me tell you a story about a friend—a best friend—named April O’Neil...”

 

***

True to his word, he stayed until she fell asleep later that evening, succumbing to the exhaustion of her illness.  She awoke later in the night, drenched in sweat and stared out her window at the twinkling lights of the city. 

 

Don had told her about April, about how she passed and where she was now.  He talked about how hard it was for his family to make a connection with her at first and how they had all grown to love her as a sister and a friend.  Rebecca had held his hand the entire time and even hugged him tightly when his emotions were too much and he cried, truly cried, on her shoulder.

 

She blamed it on the flu she had, on the emotions overwhelming her.  The story about April was a hard pill to swallow and she could visualize the woman in the picture Donatello had shown her, an odd smile flitting across his mouth.  She sounded lovely, she looked lovely and it was clear he had loved her almost, on some level.  And Rebecca was sorry about the way she had died—it was tragic, very tragic.

 

But, deep down, a small fire of jealousy burned and Rebecca couldn’t explain it, she couldn’t explain it all.

 

She hated her, this April O’Neil.  She was beautiful and wonderful and perfect.

 

_And everything you’re not and could never be._

 

Rebecca hated her and then hated herself because she didn’t understand why.


	8. Iris

Donatello squinted at the screen, his eyesight going slightly blurry.  What was supposed to be a few hours of hacking into INTERPOL’s system had turned into a multiday project and once he _finally_ had gotten access, pulling up the necessary information proved to be a nightmare.

 

Cop and detective dramas be damned—this was _not_ a simple manner of typing in a few pieces of information and pulling up the desired results. No, there were eons of databases with links to others...part of him wanted to hack into the system further and just clean the entire thing up to make his job easier.  It didn’t help that every name or search term he put in linked to another’s and it was clear it was going to be virtually impossible to find the real names of some of the men. Each one went by three or four different aliases and had dyed their hair or worn facial hair to disguise themselves.

 

It was going to be a long couple days.

 

He sighed, swiveling himself away from his desk with a groan and picked up the book that had been sitting beside him, stroking the cover as the ghost of a smile passed over his mouth. Rebecca had gotten over her flu in about a week and a few days ago, she gave him the book as a gift. An early Christmas and a ‘thank you’ gift, she called it.  He was shocked to realize upon opening it she had gotten him a copy of _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_ by Jules Verne. Donatello had mentioned, once, in a previous conversation how he had a copy of the book from his childhood that was lost in previous moves.  While Rebecca admitted she was not a huge fan of Jules Verne, it touched him she bothered to remember to get it for him. Perhaps he’d start it tonight.

 

Noises from the living room alerted to him to his family’s presence and he decided it might not be a bad idea to join them—anything to get a break from the database he’d been staring at for hours now.  Gingerly, Donatello crept out in the living room, blinking from the lights—he really had to work more on making sure he didn’t work in complete darkness all the time.  It definitely couldn’t be good for his eyes.

 

Mikey and Raphael were on the couch, eyes glued to the television watching some dumb reality TV show.  Leonardo sat in a nearby chair, a book perched in his lap.  At first glance, one would have thought he was completely engrossed in it but every now and then his eyes would drift up to watch the show surreptitiously before falling quickly back to his book, almost like he didn’t want to be caught.  Donatello heard familiar chords floating from Master Splinter’s rooms in the back and from noting the time, he determined Splinter was in the midst of his later evening meditation hours. 

 

Raphael, surprisingly, was the first brother to note Donatello’s sudden presence in the kitchen and he greeted him with a familiar sly smirk. “Nice of you to join the land of the living, Donny.”

 

Leonardo looked up again from his book, turning his head toward the kitchen. “Any new information on the Purple Dragons?”

 

Donatello sighed, slightly irritated.  He knew Leo only wanted the information so they could move faster but it seemed like every time he took a break from the research, his older brother was hounding him with questions. He opened the refrigerator and grabbed a juice, forgoing the coffee for once and shook his head at Leo, opening it.

 

“No, not yet.  INTERPOL’s system is a legitimate nightmare to comb through—be lucky I even managed to _get in._ ” He walked towards the living room and plopped down next to Raphael, taking a swig of the drink and placed the book he carried on the coffee table, dodging any crumbs.

 

Mikey, as if he were seeing Donatello for the first time, looked over with a bit of indignation, tearing his eyes away from the screen. “Hey! I drink those for breakfast!  Who said you could have one?” 

 

Raphael smacked his younger brother on the back of the head. “Shut up, Mikey. It’s not like we can’t get to the store to buy more.”

 

“Yeah, only if Casey remembers to get the right ones...” Mikey mumbled, rubbing the back of his head. “But if Leo would let me do the shopping...”

 

“Not going to happen, Mike,” Leonardo said coolly, closing his book with a snap and setting it on the end table next to him.  “You never stick to the basic list _or_ the budget.”

 

Donatello quirked his mouth, taking another swig of his juice. A headache was beginning to come on. 

 

“You lack a _creative vision,_ ” Mikey shot back, wrenching his head around to glare at Leonardo. “I’m the one who does all the cooking now anyway, why the heck should you even have a say in the freaking list?”

 

“Creative vision?  All you do is throw ingredients together and hope for the best!”

 

“I do not!  Our meals take planning and _effort!_ All _you_ do is trim the list and tell me to cut back!”

 

Donatello was now watching the argument with some sort of bizarre amusement.  Truth be told, Michelangelo and Leonardo did not fight often but over the years, Michelangelo tended to rebel more, especially since taking more responsibility in the basic domestic tasks. Raphael, per usual, appeared to be ignoring the ensuing fight and took the opportunity to grab the abandoned remote from the couch.  Mikey was now off the couch and he flipped the channel to a random football game.

 

“We have a _budget,_ Michelangelo!  Money does not grow on trees -!” Leonardo now had his arms crossed and was shaking his head. “Master Splinter appointed me to keep watch over the accounts after I got back!”  Donatello agreed with the sentiment but kept his mouth shut.  While Leonardo did certainly keep an eye on the bank accounts they had (established in combination with faked social security numbers and April some years ago), Donatello was the one who still helped Leo balance the checkbook every month.

 

“Oh, just shut up, _Poopnardo!_ ”Mikey shouted back, standing beside Leo’s chair.

 

Silence fell over the four brothers and Donatello and Raphael both turned their heads to stare at Leonardo and Mikey, a bit shocked at the use of the unique nickname. Leo, for once, was speechless.

 

“Good one, Mike!” Raphael said after a few moments, suddenly breaking the silence and holding up his hand for a three-fingered high-five.  “Ten points for creative use of a nickname—it’s time someone called him that to his face.”

 

Mikey gave him the high five, still in shock at his outburst and was watching Leonardo carefully for what he feared might be retribution. 

 

After another minute or two, Leo shook his head and his mouth was in a straight line. “What do you say to...twenty flips tomorrow at practice, Mikey?” 

 

“Aww, Leo, come on...it was just a stupid nickname! I’m sorry!  I haven’t called you it that much...”

 

“Yeah, right,” Raphael coughed and Mikey elbowed him in the ribs, indicating Raph should stay quiet. Donatello finished his juice and continued to watch, a small smirk crossing his face. He had heard Mikey use the name on occasion—although, the ones Raph tended to use were far more impolite.

 

“Ten flips tomorrow, then.” Leonardo said, picking up his book again, a rare smirk dancing across his features. “And, maybe, next time I can let you go shopping with Casey.”

 

“ _See!_  You’re never going to let me...wait.” Michelangelo paused, hopeful and knelt beside Leonardo in excitement. “Really?! Because I know about these rad farmer’s markets nearby, in Central Park - .”

 

“Maybe,” Leonardo stated cautiously, eyeing his little brother. “But, you have to work with me on the budget next time, so you understand. And still, ten flips at training tomorrow.”

 

“Fine,” Mikey said, nodding, clearly giddy.  “There’s some new fruit I’ve been wanting to get...”

 

“Ten bucks says he gets bored halfway through the budget lecture and ends up going over anyway,” Raphael whispered to Donatello, his eyes still watching the game.

 

“You’re on,” Donatello agreed and they shook hands discreetly.

 

After finishing with Mikey, Leo looked at Donatello again, speaking. “So, you really have nothing else on those men or the Purple Dragons?” 

 

Donatello grumbled and shook his head again, annoyed, “ _No_ , Leo, for the thousandth time. First of all, half the recovered emails and texts are in some garbled foreign language and on top of _that_ I still have to break through this code they’re using to hide the merchandise. It’s not something that can be done overnight!”

 

“I know, Donny, I just...on the news this morning - .”

 

“They found a dead chick on Purple Dragon territory,” Raphael broke in, his voice unwavering and full of quiet rage.  “They said she’d been raped and roughed up bad.”

 

Donatello paused and shifted his gaze towards Raphael, who was now gripping the remote tightly. “What else are they saying?”  Mikey was quiet now too, watching the conversation unfold.

 

“Prostitute,” Raphael growled, clicking the television off. “What else do they ever fucking say when they find a girl trussed up? I think she’s got some connection with the so-called merchandise they keep carting back and forth.”

 

“Raph,” Leo started, quietly. “We don’t know if she’s got any connection at all with the Purple Dragons - .”

 

“I know it, Leo.  I just fucking know it, okay? What—you the only one allowed to have instincts and all that shit?”

 

“I’m not saying that, Raph, I’m just saying we have to be careful about how we approach this...”

 

“What did she look like?”  Donatello swiftly cut into the conversation, his voice cracking.

 

“Blonde, curvy,” Raphael said slowly, turning his head toward Donatello. “Why does that -?”

 

“I’m going out.” Like a slingshot, Donatello was off the couch and out the door of the lair, the disguised brick door closing behind him.  His other brothers stared after him, startled at the unexpected exit.

 

“...That’s usually my line,” Raphael stated, still staring at the brick door, bewildered.

 

“Umm...guys? What is up with Donny?”  Michelangelo questioned, scratching his head.

 

“I...I really don’t know, Mikey,” Leonardo sighed, turning his attention back to his book, dropping the discussion with Raphael. “He really has been acting odd lately...”

 

****

Reason told Donatello it wasn’t possible for the blonde woman to be Rebecca.  He texted her last night to see how she was faring.  She reported back how she was swamped with school work and with Thanksgiving fast approaching, she was trying to get as much done as humanly possible.  Their visits had dwindled slightly over the last two weeks but he tried to bring her dinner at every few days after he discovered she didn’t cook and lived almost entirely off take-out, pizza and tuna fish.  He declared it wasn’t healthy for her diet (especially after being sick) and she begrudgingly ate what he brought, always somewhat shocked Donatello had such access to decent food. Mikey had yet to take notice of the dwindling leftovers in the refrigerator, thank goodness.  It wasn’t even odd he hadn’t heard from her today—an email from her in the wee hours of the morning indicated she was hard at work and she mentioned briefly she was hoping to head to the library at NYU for books she needed to complete her various assignments.

 

None of these thoughts stopped Donatello, however, as he leapt from building to building, jogging across rooftops until reaching the building across from her apartment.  His heart jumped into his throat when he saw no lights on in her unit.  While it wasn’t too late in the evening, Rebecca almost always kept her lights on, working late into the night.  Sprinting, he landed on her fire escape and peered into the window, cursing her for a moment for leaving the drapes open. He would definitely have to speak to her about that oversight...

 

His hand traced over the edge of the window, tugging on it and was not surprised when it was locked.  The lights were off and it didn’t seem like Rebecca was anywhere to be found—not even asleep on the bed.  He immediately began feeling around in his belt for the kit he carried for similar circumstances, determined and frantic to get into her apartment to make sure there was nothing out of place.  Just as his hands began jiggling with the lock with his pick, the apartment suddenly flooded with light and Donatello was startled to see Rebecca stumbling in her front door.  His eyes widened a bit in shock at her appearance.

 

A tight, black lace dress with a red satin underlay hugged her curves.  A sensible pair of black heels rested on her feet and a matching black wristlet swung from her wrist wildly.  Her hair, normally kept up in a messy bun or ponytail, flowed down around her shoulders in a thick mass, the blonde highlights he never noticed before catching the light.  The makeup, which she normally wore lightly, if at all, was done heavily to emphasize her large, dark green eyes and black eyelashes. 

 

Donatello felt the pick slip from his hand and clatter on the fire escape, metal scraping against metal. His breath hitched as he watched her, eyes taking in this strange but exciting new sight.  This...this was a Rebecca he certainly never saw.

 

It took a minute for him to realize something was very wrong.  Rebecca’s face, normally deep in thought or a smile, was pinched. He winced, watching her throw her wristlet against the wall in an uncharacteristic display of anger.  The noise didn’t seem to satisfy her and one of her shoes followed the same path as the wristlet, making a large crack.  Her second shoe was kicked off her foot and she stomped over to the cabinets, bringing down a large bottle of wine.  A solo cup was used, as it appeared she didn’t have the energy to search for a clean wine glass, and she sat at the table, now engaged in the comforting act of lighting a cigarette, not caring for once about her landlord and the after effects of smoke in the apartment.  Donatello’s heart constricted when he glanced to her eyes again, hidden as she swiped from them every few moments.

 

Rebecca...was crying. She was actually crying.

 

Donatello had two choices. He could leave now and pretend he hadn’t seen her and simply call in the morning to check on her—especially since he knew now she was not the blonde, curvy woman found by the police that morning.  But, the way she kept wiping her eyes and clutched the cigarette in her hands like a lifeline made him pause.  Within seconds, three familiar, soft knocks echoed on the window and she looked up, startled, to see him sitting on the fire escape.  It was obvious she hadn’t been expecting him.

 

Rebecca hurried over to the window, throwing up the latch to let him in out of the cold.  Her makeup was starting to run because of her tears but she gave him a shaky smile anyway as he stepped into the living room.

 

“Sorry,” she said meekly, wiping hurriedly at her eyes again.  “Wasn’t expecting to see you tonight—a very pleasant surprise.  I would have kept the window unlocked if I knew.”

 

“...I didn’t plan on stopping by, actually,” Donatello admitted, watching her carefully and keeping his voice low. “You look nice.”

 

She barked a humorless laugh and headed back towards the table in her kitchen, taking another drag from her cigarette and threw herself into the chair. “You don’t have to lie to me, Don—I know I look like complete _shit,_ ” she spat the word out and took a swig of wine from the solo cup.  “You know, now might not be a good time to stop by—I’m tired -.”

 

“What happened, Becca?” He whispered, sitting across from her, taking the glass of wine out of her hands.  She let him, her head down as she stared intensely at the ashtray on the table, rubbing her cigarette in it absent-mindedly.

 

“Nothing,” she lied, crushing the cigarette in spite of the bit left on it.  “Nothing at all.”

 

“Don’t lie to me, Rebecca,” Donatello pleaded, eyeing her. “You’re upset and I know it’s not at your purse or your shoes...”

 

“You saw that, huh?” She was quiet and she looked up, finally meeting his eyes. “The ninja thing gets annoying sometimes—I hope you know that.  It’s fucking creepy that you can just _watch_ me and I won’t even know.” Her voice came out unintentionally harsh, but some part of it was meant to be joking.  She forced a smile on her face after a beat, standing up to go into the kitchen. “Since you’re staying, are you hungry or thirsty? I can put some water on for tea - .”

 

“Becca,” he insisted, grabbing her wrist to prevent her from getting away.  “What happened? It’s obvious you’re upset about _something_.”

 

“I’m _not_ ,” she snapped, trying to wrench away from his grasp. A flash of anger appeared in her eyes. “Look, you didn’t have to stop by—I am _really_ tired, Don. Maybe you should leave.”

 

Donatello took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  This wasn’t going to be easy, but he was damned to see this through to the end.

“I’m here, Becca. And I’m not leaving until I know what’s wrong.” His voice was stronger now but he kept watching her with his dark brown eyes and for a brief moment, Rebecca wished she had the strength to hit him—maybe he would finally leave her alone then.

 

“Nothing’s wrong, okay? Can’t I be allowed to have a bad night—like when you pound on your keyboard and cuss under your breath, thinking I can’t hear it? Newsflash— _I can._ ” Her mouth was set in a firm line and if it were possible, steam would be coming out of her ears.  Whatever patience she had left was wearing thin.

 

Donatello only continued to stare at her, never breaking his gaze.  His spoke again, emphasizing every word. “Rebecca,” he said through gritted teeth, standing up to meet her height. “What. happened?”

 

“ _Nothing,_ ” she screeched suddenly, finally breaking away from him.  She started to pace the width of her apartment, doing everything possible to stay away from him. “I had a date tonight—it didn’t work out. Are you _happy_ now?”

 

“...A date?” He questioned, tilting his head at her, surprised. “With _who?_ ”

 

“A friend set me up, Donatello. I have those, you know—other _friends_.  Except this guy was drunk by the time I got to the restaurant and when I stood up to fucking _leave,_ he was telling me how’d never banged a fat chick before but if I paid him twenty bucks, he’d be more than happy to take care of my little _virginity_ problem.” Rebecca stopped by the wall and without warning, punched her hand into it, making a loud noise.   She gave a cry, cradling her fist, but the pain was a welcome relief from the anger and hurt in her mind—at least physical pain was easier to treat.

 

Donatello was behind her in an instant, hand held out like he was about to grab her shoulder and force her to let him examine her hand but reason told him to stay put.  His eyed widened at the story, completely dumbfounded.  Someone...someone had actually said that...about Rebecca?  She wasn’t stick thin—that much was true.  But she had curves and she dressed appropriately to her body type.  She was cute, pretty even, if not by society’s standards.

 

The silence between them continued, his hand hovering over her shoulder while she faced the wall.  She finally spoke again, giving a hollow chuckle.  “I put on this uncomfortable dress and did my hair and my fucking makeup and I wore _heels_ —I _hate_ heels and I went...I went on this date thinking maybe, just maybe, I could get him to like me.  Stupid, right?  Girls like me...well, there aren’t any princes anymore. Only frogs.”

 

 _Or turtles,_ he thought to himself, studying her back.  She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek.  

 

“The restaurant had dancing,” she whispered, sighing. “Pretty, classical music. I read about it online before I went—I thought he might ask me to dance.”  Rebecca trailed off, turning to face him and wiped at her eyes, giving him a watery smile and meeting his eyes.  “I’ll get over it...I always do. Still hurts.  But, I’m a big girl—you don’t have to stay. Come back tomorrow and I promise ‘normal’ Rebecca will be here.”

 

Donatello moved his hand from where it had been hovering.  There was an intense look in his eyes as he watched her and by its own accord, his thumb wiped a tear off her cheek.  It stayed there for a moment, stroking, and as fast as it happened, he pulled his hand back and left it to dangle at his side.

 

“He’s a real idiot,” he murmured, never breaking his gaze.  Some part of him wished there was more to say but it was difficult to right someone else’s wrongs. “He’ll regret it later, when he’s engaged in the horizontal tango with someone else who gives him a STD and he could’ve spent the evening with you, just talking.”

 

Rebecca snorted, a genuine smile dancing around her mouth.  She couldn’t say it aloud but she still felt on her cheek where he had touched her.  It felt cold to the touch but burned at the same time—she ignored it.  Something was so desperately right about that small touch and...no.

 

_Not now, not ever, Rebecca._

 

“Don, I’m sure banging her is far more fascinating than listening to me drone on about Jane Austen and dead nineteenth century writers -,” she started, rubbing her arm. 

 

“Never,” he interjected, shaking his head. “ _Never.”_

Another long pause passed between them and finally, Rebecca was the first to look away and she moved to the couch, plucking her laptop from the coffee table and opened it, grateful for the distraction.  “...I’ve got some work to do—maybe we can continue this analysis of why Rebecca is unable to keep a date interested sometime tomorrow?”  Her tone was light but the meaning was clear—it was time to drop this conversation.  It was moving in a path Rebecca did not want to venture down.

 

On the other hand, Donatello was intrigued.  This...this was different.  Just how far could he take it...?

 

In a flash, he grabbed the laptop out her hands and began clicking around on it furiously. 

 

“Hey!” she cried, moving to grab for it but he was quicker and held it out of her grasp, concentrating.  “What do you think you’re doing—I had a paper pulled up -!”

 

“Shush,” he admonished, putting it back down on the coffee table.  A tune familiar to Rebecca floated out from the tiny speakers and she blinked, confused about what, precisely, Donatello was trying to accomplish here.

 

The song, she guessed after a moment, was a personal favorite of hers. Funny, she didn’t remember ever listening to it when he was present.

 

 _“And I don't want the world to see me_  
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand  
When everything's meant to be broken   
I just want you to know who I am  
  
And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming  
Or the moment of truth in your lies  
When everything feels like the movies  
Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive...”

 

She concentrated hard on the lyrics, perplexed.  “Iris” by the Goo Goo Dolls—a classic song, for certain. But, why, of all the songs -?

 

“You’re missing the point, Becca. And wasting the song.”

 

Her gaze shifted to Donatello, who held out a mutant hand to her, making a gesture for her to come closer. She lowered her eyes at him and stepped closer.  He gave a dramatic sigh and grasped her hand wish his own, pulling her towards him.  Rebecca practically fell against his plastron but he steadied her easily, positioning her in his arms. He guided her arms around his neck and gingerly held her hips. 

 

Rebecca quirked an eye at him and he smiled sheepishly as he started to sway awkwardly back and forth to the song, not on time at all to the music.  They stumbled around for a few minutes, trying to get their bearings and she wasn’t certain what direction he was trying to lead her in.

 

“...I thought...this was a stupid idea, wasn’t it? The dancing?”  Donatello asked her, blushing, as he led them in a slow, odd circle.  His large feet hit hers a few times and she stepped back, creating more distance between their bodies.

 

She laughed softly and followed his lead, smirking. “To be honest, it’s like I’m back at a middle school dance.”

 

“...We can stop,” he began, pulling away from her. Rebecca tightened her arms around his neck, preventing him from stepping away easily.

 

“Aw, no you don’t, you big turtle,” she grinned up at him, trapping him.  “You got yourself into this mess and I’m not letting you back out.”

 

“Fine,” he grumbled, holding onto her waist again.

 

They continued to move and as the song ended, it began again a moment later, obviously on repeat.   She watched his eyes and noticed he was looking everywhere but her, obviously embarrassed.

 

“Hey,” Rebecca professed, tapping the back of his head to get his attention.  His eyes shifted to hers again and she beamed at him, happy.  “Thank you—you...you really didn’t have to do this.  She paused, shaking her head to laugh. “You have now officially seen every crazy side of Rebecca—feel free to step away at any time.”

 

He looked surprised and chuckled, tugging on her hips lightly to bring her closer. “It’s really my pleasure.  I’m—well, I’m glad.” Donatello nodded then, satisfied with what he had to say.  Words hung in the air between them, the silence speaking for them both.

 

In a mimic of his touch to her earlier, Rebecca caressed his cheek lightly, pondering something.  They stared for a few moments longer until she leaned forward, turning her head to rest it against his shoulder.  He tensed but relaxed, wrapping his arms around her body again, in a prolonged hug. They swayed unsteadily like for awhile, the song playing continuously. 

 

When he left later that evening, satisfied she was better, his hand rubbed the spot where she had touched his face softly. 

 

He could still feel her there, light as it was.

 

***

Donatello arrived home a few hours later, determined to get some rest and begin his search anew with INTERPOL’s database the next morning.  The dead woman certainly added to his stress that whatever the Purple Dragons were up to needed to come to an end before anyone else ended up murdered.

 

He was surprised to see a light on the living room and was even more surprised when the light revealed Leonardo, still seated in his lounge chair right where he left him. Leo appeared to be engrossed in his book and he gave Donatello a nod as he walked past him, heading to his bedroom.

 

“Donny?” Leonardo asked, not even glancing up from the page as Donatello neared the hallway. “Do you mind if I ask you a quick question before you go to bed?”

 

He sighed, turning to face his brother. “Sure, Leo, but I still need to work on getting that information—I should have something more concrete tomorrow.”

 

“No, it’s not that,” Leo said casually, flipping a page. “You know the book I was reading when you flew out of here earlier?” He continued, not waiting for a response. “Well, I finished it and picked up a book you left on the table earlier, _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_ by Jules Verne?”

 

“...I must have,” Donatello was perplexed—why was Leo being so odd about a book?  “I found a copy a few days ago and have been meaning to read it.”

 

Leonardo nodded, his eyes darting over the page.  “I remember when we lost it when we were younger—you cried to Master Splinter for a week.  Anyway, I saw it and remembered it and wanted to reread it. But, would you know it? This piece of paper fell out when I opened the pages...” He held up a neatly folded piece of paper and Donatello’s blood ran cold, staring at it.  His older brother continued in a casual tone of voice but Donatello could tell there was more to this than Leo was leading on.

 

“I read it, thinking the note might have been left by a previous owner—I’m sure you can understand.  So, I was a little surprised when the writer addressed you by name and thanked you for being and I quote ‘an awesome turtle doctor and great friend.’  _She_ also signed it ‘your newest human friend, Rebecca.’”   Leonardo was turned around in the chair now, a very serious look on his face.  All Donatello could do was stare back, his heart thudding loudly in his chest.

 

His secret was out—there was no escape from this now.


	9. Dinner Plans

“ _And I don't want the world to see me, 'cause I don't think that they'd understand_...” Rebecca growled at the random shuffle of her iTunes and clicked angrily, sighing when it switched to a Nightwish song full of loud chords and screaming lyrics.  She wasn’t in a position to hear _that_ song at the moment.   She brought the Word document back up and began typing furiously again, throwing the cigarette into the ashtray beside her.

 

It was the week of Thanksgiving and while most of her friends would be going away to visit their families, she’d decided to forgo her own visit so she could stay home and get more work done.  Her illness had put her behind a bit more than she liked and every spare moment she had was spent perfecting a paper or an argument.  Over the last forty-eight hours, she’d had maybe about ten or so hours of sleep, intermittently choosing to nap and going through bouts of productivity and procrastination. 

 

Ah, the life of a graduate student.

 

After typing about a page, engulfed in her thoughts, she glanced to her phone again, clicking it to show the screen and gave a strangled sound of frustration. 

 

Nothing.

 

It had been three days since she’d last heard from Don.

 

 Three.

 

Whole.

 

 Days.

 

She’d tried texting him, had even tried calling him several times and each attempt to reach him resulted in a voicemail and every text to him came back unanswered.  While she certainly didn’t need his presence or communication as a distraction, she liked to bounce ideas off of him.  He had this particular way of quirking his mouth when he went to answer her and, as a way of allowing her eyes to readjust way from the backlight of her laptop, she’d taken to watching him work and he would stick his tongue out a certain—

 

She stopped typing again and stared at the screen.  This was not good. This...this was not good at all, really. Ever since the night with the dance and the music and the look on his face...

 

Rebecca sighed and clicked to minimize her document. On her desktop, she double clicked and brought up another document, curiously entitled ‘Ideas.’ When she first made the document a few days ago, she decided to come with a rather inconspicuous title for it. Donatello didn’t make it a regular habit to comb through her computer but there’d been a time or two the system acted oddly and he looked at it.  She thought she might resist any temptation he might have to snoop with a boring title.

 

The document opened with the title “Pros and Cons of Don” scrawled across the top in large type font and what followed below was just as the title suggested.

 

The awkward dancing that occurred a few nights previous had awakened something Rebecca she couldn’t quite get past.  She often spent time complaining to her friends how there were no good men and that all of them were scum and douches.  The truth was, that wasn’t quite true...some just happened to be green. And mutant turtles.

 

That was the part Rebecca couldn’t get past, though.  Don was everything to her intelligent-wise she’d looked for in a guy, even if he was more into the sciences.  They could hold conversations about her work and his for hours, even if she didn’t always understand his at times.  He grasped concepts she mentioned within seconds when she’d spent twenty minutes on dates trying to get them to understand the argument for her papers. He was everything she could ever want but—

 

He was green. And a mutant turtle.  Two really big, glaring problems that took up the largest majority of the ‘con’ side of the document.  It was hard for Rebecca to admit—she thought he was cute and could be so sweet but...he wasn’t human. There was no way around admitting that—he wasn’t human. And while she never considered herself vain or into looks, it bothered her on some level that he wasn’t.  They would never be able to be seen in public together, he could never meet her family...

 

She typed into the document on the ‘con’ side.

 

  *  _Could risk government experimentation_



However, within a few minutes, she added more to the pro side without even really thinking about it.

 

  *  _Listens_
  * _Wants to actually make you feel better_
  * _Makes you laugh_



Rebecca bit her lip, studying the list intently.  To be honest, the pro side was much longer than the con side. But the items listed on the con side were important and she suddenly thought of another to add to the con list that summed everything up neatly.

 

  *  _No idea if he could return these affections anyway._



It was blaringly true—he didn’t need to know she had these types of thoughts anyway and he could very much reject her just as much as might actually reject him.  It was so complicated.  The friendship line was becoming more blurry by the day and she was struggling against reasons why she couldn’t at least talk to him about it—

 

A firm knock on her window startled her and her head bounced up, to look at the window. A familiar shape there stared at her serious, a purple bandana covering his eyes.

 

It was Don.

 

***

“My family wants you to come for dinner.”

 

Donatello stood in front of the window that Rebecca had opened for him a few moments ago, his head bowed down.  She stared at him, utterly perplexed, her eyes blinking at him behind her glasses.  Shaking her head, she took a seat on the bed, confused beyond measure. She hadn’t heard from him in three days and now...this?

 

“I’m sorry...you said _what?_ ”

 

“My family, Becca--,” he gingerly moved from in front of the window and sat down next to her, quietly and moved her head so he was looking into her eyes. “They want to meet you.  In an hour.” He didn’t add that Leonardo had demanded and that Splinter had very _strongly_ urged the issue.

 

She blinked at him again slowly, comprehension dawning on her face. This was...this was a big deal.

 

“But, Don--,” she looked frantic, gesturing to herself and her clothes. “I haven’t even showered today and my hair is a mess.” Per usual for a day of work and reflecting the middle of semester mayhem, Rebecca was still dressed in her t-shirt and boxers she’d worn to bed the night before.  She’d never even bothering to change at any course during the day, despite the fact that it was closing to five in the evening.

 

He sighed, shaking his head. “You probably should get ready, then. You’re going to need all the time you can get.  I’ll meet you in the alley across the street in an hour.”

 

She stared at him, irritated and growing slightly angry. “You know, I haven’t heard from you in three days and you come in here and drop this bomb—I think it’s _hardly_ fair. Do I even get an option in this?” 

 

“No,” Donatello answered, standing up. “I’ve hid enough secrets and told enough half-truths. It’s time to come clean. Tonight.” He sighed and turned to watch her. “It’ll be okay, I promise...we’re having sushi. You like that, right?”

 

Rebecca was in shock. “Wait. You lied to your family?! They never even knew about me? How—I mean, I don’t--,”.

 

Donatello stood firm, watching her.  “We don’t make a lot of contact with the outside, Becca—I thought it was fairly obvious.” A note of sarcasm entered his voice but he grew serious again, taking a deep breath. “My family’s protection is important and rather than just disappearing on you, we—I thought this might be for the best.  Meeting them will help explain me—and them—better.”

 

The thought scared her. Over the last three days, he’d almost considered ending their friendship, to protect his family?  Panic immediately filled her mind—though Don had only been in her life for two months at most, she couldn’t imagine him not being in it.  Perhaps she could suck it up and do this for him, especially if it meant keeping their somewhat odd friendship intact.

 

“...Fine,” she said, after a moment, looking at him again. “But you owe me for this.” Rebecca stood, eyeing him and then punched him roughly on the arm.

 

“Ouch!” He cried, wincing and grabbing where she hit him. “That hurt!”

 

“Serves you right, you big jerk! Just talk to me next time, okay?! I thought you were dead or mad or...something,” she managed, crossing her arms and looking to the side.

 

“...I’m sorry,” Donatello said, after a moment, biting his tongue.. “It was rough, once everyone found out.” He didn’t mention the teasing from Raph and Mikey and the glares Leo shot him at every opportunity. 

 

It was going to be an interesting evening.

 

He stopped rubbing his arm and came to stand in front of her, searching her eyes.  “I...I am sorry it had to happen like this. But, it’ll be better after this—you’ll see. Now, shoo,” he made the motion with his hand. “Go do what girls do to get ready. I’ll be waiting.”

 

“Fine,” she stated, turning to her closet to stare inside. “I reserve the right to be pissed at you for awhile, though.”

 

“Understandably,” he said and then he gave her a swift but awkward hug from behind before ducking out the window and disappearing into the settling dusk.  Rebecca clicked her tongue in annoyance and continued to stare in her closet in confusion.

 

_What the fuck am I supposed to wear to dinner with a family of mutants anyway?_

***

Donatello stood in the darkness of the alley, doing a few katas silently to keep warm.  He’d stupidly forgotten to bring his coat in the chaos of the lair over the joint decision of inviting Rebecca to dinner.

 

After Leo cornered him the night he left for Rebecca’s, everything had come out at once. Leo was angry and disappointed, that much was certain. He was even more irritated when he found out Mikey knew the entire time and that Raph even had an inkling of his own that something was going on. The morning that followed, during practice, Donatello had approached Splinter for a private audience in which he explained the circumstances surrounding the sudden but odd friendship he had developed with Rebecca.  Splinter was slightly disappointed in his son but also comforted him on some level, saying he understood Donatello’s loneliness and desire for a friend outside of their normal circle.  However, he’d made clear that such secrets were to never be kept again.

 

The fifty back flips Splinter had also tacked on as a ‘reminder of his actions’ certainly didn’t hurt things either.

 

The family then over the last few days tried to decide collectively how to tackle the issue of Rebecca, considering the increased presence of the Dragons over the last few weeks.  Leonardo was adamant at first about avoiding her and possibly never seeing her again but Donatello wouldn’t hear of it.  Rebecca over the last few months had become more than just a casual acquaintance—she was quickly becoming his best friend. And then there was the most recent incident of dancing in her apartment...

 

He gulped, the image of Rebecca dressed as she was that night coming into his mind. It was hard to admit, even to himself, but he was attracted to her...and the attraction was not anywhere close to decreasing in his mind. Every time he replayed a conversation or envisioned her laugh, his throat tightened just a bit and he could never get enough of her eyes—such pretty green eyes and her hair was this different color than he’d seen before—

 

 _Get a grip, Donnie,_ he thought to himself, suddenly. _Besides, she would definitely never be interested._

And to be honest, he couldn’t blame her.  He knew some humans were into odd things—bestiality, it was called. But Rebecca didn’t strike him as that type of girl.  Though she was intelligent and bright, she was also very normal and...human.  Friends were all they could ever really be—not adding in the danger of seeing someone who was a ninja and had more enemies than the U.S. government...

 

That was another factor he didn’t want to face, too—the danger.  How many times had his family’s friendship with April and even Casey put them in the face of danger?  On many levels, he realized, he had been incredibly selfish in his pursuit of a friendship with Rebecca.  Their very association could bring her into danger.  He remembered the night he had rushed to her apartment when she was sick and thought, finally, the Purple Dragons had detected their relationship and he would never have been able to live with himself if...if--

Things were simpler this way, he decided abruptly. While it hurt to watch her sometimes and know he could never have her, he could adjust, he could remain quiet.  And it would suck but he could get used to it because he would still be there...even as a friend.

 

He sighed, shaking his head to rid himself of the deep thoughts.  No sense in dwelling over it because would never admit it out loud anyway.  He watched the window to her apartment, noting some shadows of movement.  Hopefully, she would be ready soon.

 

***

An hour had passed and Rebecca made her way across the street to the alley, holding a bottle of champagne she’d managed to dig up in the clutter of her apartment.  She was dressed comfortably in a pair of jeans and ballet flats, a blue scooped sweater completing the ensemble with her windbreaker thrown on top.  While it certainly wasn’t your typical invitation to dinner, she would be damned if she showed up empty handed.  She looked around the alley, trying to catch sight of Donatello’s shadow.

 

“Don?” She whispered into the darkness. “I’m here...”

 

Rebecca jumped when a hand touched her shoulder and she whirled around coming face to face with a familiar turtle.

 

“Sorry,” he said, raising his eyeridges at her appearance. “You clean up quickly.” He noted the bottle of champagne in her hands. “Nice touch—I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”

 

“I hope so,” she responded, putting the bottle away in her large bag. “Now!  Am I driving there or what...?”  She held up her car keys to indicate she was willing to also transport Donatello as well.

 

He looked sheepish and rubbed the back of his head, trying to determine the best way to explain this. “Actually, we’re going to walk,” he answered, pulling out a black blindfold and showing the object to her.

 

Her eyebrows furrowed and she looked up at him again, irritated. “Don. Are we really that paranoid?  I’m not going to give away the location!  I wouldn’t even know who to tell!”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” he shook his head, and threw the blind fold over her eyes, tying a quick and tight knot on the back of her head. “Leader’s orders—we can’t afford to not take every precaution necessary.”

 

She growled at him from under the blind fold. “I swear if I didn’t know you better, Donatello, I’d think you were trying something kinky with me.”

 

He laughed at her, despite her obvious annoyance and lifted up the manhole in the middle of the alley.  “You can trust me on that front, at least,” he said, smirking even though she couldn’t see it.

 

After removing the entrance to the sewer, Donatello knelt in front of her again, taking her hands and guiding them around his neck. “Come on—I’m going to carry you. Makes it easier.” _And you avoid stepping on anything gross in those nice shoes,_ he thought.

 

Carefully, as best as she could blindfolded, she attempted to wrap her legs around Donatello’s large shell, letting out a small shriek as he stood up, clutching the area under her knees to his shell. She held onto his neck for dear life but he didn’t seem to mind.

 

“I’m surprised you can carry all my weight,” she said, joking lightly, despite the odd circumstances.

 

He began the descent into the sewers and he laughed at her. “Becca, you have no idea how much I can actually lift up.” 

 

“True,” she said and she heard her voice echo in the large tunnel around them as Donatello leapt to the bottom and began sprinting through the tunnels.  Rebecca moved her head around, trying to see if she could remove the blindfold so she could see her surrounding but it wouldn’t budge—Don made certain it wouldn’t move at all.

 

“Are we in the sewer?” She asked, incredulous, after a few minutes had passed and she heard the sound of water running in the distance.

 

“...Yeah,” Donatello finally said.  “It’s going to be a little while—the rooftops are quicker and there’s a closer tunnel to connect to the larger one but I chose the one easiest for you to get to.’

 

“Do you live in a sewer...?” 

 

He snorted, readjusting her on his shell. “Sort of—we’ve made it pretty inhabitable.  You won’t be able to tell.”

 

“So, those stories they always told about the mutant alligators are true?” She still sounded surprised. Although, when she really thought about it, she supposed they couldn’t necessarily live in a nice brownstone in Brooklyn.

 

“More than you know,” he stated cryptically, slowing down slightly. “Sorry—more water here than I thought. Hold on tight—I don’t want you get your outfit wet.”

 

“Okay,” she answered, tightening her grip on his neck, lifting up a bit.  His arms situated her higher and she winced, feeling his fingers get a bit closer to her bottom than was comfortable.  Clearly, this evening was off to a great beginning...

 

“Tell me about your family,” she said suddenly, as Donatello was concentrating on making sure he got to the driest parts of the tunnel. He paused for a moment, unsure of how to answer.

 

“They’re mutants, like me,” he replied, flatly.

 

“Turtles?” 

 

“Most of us. My father is actually a--,.” A familiar squeaking sounded in the distance in a drier tunnel to the left and within seconds, Rebecca was cutting off Donatello’s air wave as her arms tightened even more around his neck and she scrambled up the back of his shell.

 

“ _Shit,_ ” she shrieked, clinging on for dear life. “Is that a rat? I _hate_ rats...”

 

“Yeah, Becca, about that...”

 

She had no idea about what she was getting into.


	10. Awkward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman, various publishers including but not limited to Image and Mirage Comics, Paramount Pictures, 4kids and Nickelodeon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Only thing I own is Rebecca Maitland.
> 
> Author's Note: Well. It’s certainly been awhile, hasn’t it? Over the last two years, this story has been on and off my mind but this chapter was hard to write—so very hard. It wasn’t until literally a week ago I FINALLY found a way to make this work and advance the plot forward. Sad thing is I even had it planned out from before but it never seemed right.
> 
> If you’ve stuck it out with this story for as long as you have, I appreciate it so much. I promise more chapters are coming but I am a full time worker now, so my time is rather limited. But I am going to sincerely try. Telling Rebecca and Donatello’s story is now more important to me than never.
> 
> Anyway, onwards to the story—please review if you are so inclined!
> 
> ***

Standing in a sewer blindfolded while a mutated turtle fiddled with controls to allow one to enter his home was becoming the single most awkward thing Rebecca had ever experienced.

 

They had finally stopped after what felt like eons and Donatello was now configuring the controls that would allow the two of them access to his home ...lair...turtle cave? ( _Not sure about the proper terms,_ she thought to herself amusingly).

 

A squeak in the distance had her head turning as she remembered the mutated rat explanation Donatello had provided about his father. Despite his reassurances, she was still nervous to meet a giant form of something she feared. It hadn’t helped she’d been unable to explain her deep fear of the rodents and she had since resigned herself to learning how to be polite to a rat man.

 

After a few minutes that seemed like hours, she heard Donatello mumbling and the sounds of a numeric key pad going off. Her hand ghosted over the cloth of the black blindfold she had over her eyes and she sighed.

 

“Can I take this off now?” Rebecca whined, tugging at it. The blindfold routine had gotten old fast and she wanted nothing further then to wrench it away from her forehead.

 

“Not yet,” he replied, concentrating. “I’m finishing the necessary codes now—we just updated and it’s taking me a bit longer than I thought—ah, got it!” A cold rush of wind rushed by her as a door _whooshed_ open and Donatello quickly tugged her inside.

 

_Now or never, Rebecca..._

 

****

Rebecca felt herself engulfed in strong arms within seconds of Donatello removing her blindfold and she saw only a glimpse of an orange mask beforehand.

 

“Becky! It’s great to meet you finally! We’ve heard _so_ much about you.”

 

“Mikey! She doesn’t like--,”.

 

“So!” The turtle continued chatting, ignoring his brother and pulling back to flash her a huge grin. “I’ve got some fish chopped and ready to roll—Donny mentioned that salmon and cream cheese was one of your favorites, so I have that set up, along with one with some crab and tuna you should like.”

 

“I,” Rebecca could only stare, unsure of how to respond. “That—that sounds very nice. Thank you...Mike?”

 

“The one and only! Also known as Mikey—as Donny just demonstrated—and Michelangelo if you’re Master Splinter—speaking of which... _Sensei, they’re here!_ ” He shouted, causing her to jump suddenly.

 

Donatello sighed and shooed at his younger brother. “Alright, Mikey—go finish dinner.”

 

“Whatever you say, bro—wait until you see what I’ve got cooking for dessert!” With that, he scurried off to the kitchen and Rebecca glanced at Donatello, her eyes wide.

 

He smiled sheepishly at her. “Heh. Sorry. I think he was excited about meeting you.”

 

“...I could see that,” she stated, looking around what she could make of Donatello’s home. He had been right to a certain extent—you couldn’t initially tell their home was in the sewer. The kitchen was in an area off to the left through the entrance and she could see Michelangelo shuffling through there, humming softly to himself. There was a hallway to the right, where she assumed bedrooms were—if they did sleep in separate rooms. There was a TV area in a little drop off from the kitchen with a tattered but comfortable looking tartan couch. She could make out some rooms beyond the kitchen but when finally she turned her attention back to Donatello she was startled to see company already present by his side.

 

A rat mutant who came to about her height peered at her silently while a turtle with a blue bandana (who Rebecca could only assume was another brother) stood by his side watching her with great intensity. She gulped quietly. The blue one made her nervous. Very nervous—even more than the rat.

 

“Ah, Miss Maitland, is it?” Donatello’s father said softly, offering his paw to shake. “A pleasure to finally have you in our home. I am Master Splinter.”

 

Rebecca tried to quell the fear that rose in the back of her mind. Giant rats were not exactly something one prepared for. Still, she gingerly took his paw and shook it. “T—thank you, very much. I was surprised at the invitation.”

 

“As was I,” she heard Donatello mutter and she turned to him, frowning. Quickly, he cleared his throat and gestured to the blue clad turtle.

 

“Rebecca—Leo—also known as Leonardo. Oldest brother and defacto leader.”

 

Rebecca shifted and felt Leonardo’s eyes slide over her. She caught a glimpse of ice blue—different from Michelangelo’s which were a deeper shade. They caught hers and he offered her a hand, similar to his father, and a ghost of a smile passed over his mouth.

 

“Nice to meet you, Rebecca.” His grip on her much smaller hand was firm and strong. “It’s good to finally put a face to your name.”

 

“Er--,” she stumbled over her words, a blush creeping on her cheeks. Donatello had _never_ talked about his family and she was unsure how to respond. “Don mentioned you were a...supportive family?”

 

Behind Leonardo, she could see Donatello raise his eyeridges in confusion. They both knew he had never uttered those words.

 

_Great. This is going swimmingly._

“I mean—well, he just—he never said much. Just—there was a family. Off the grid,” Rebecca finished awkwardly, staring at the floor, hoping it might open up and swallow her whole.

 

Leonardo surprisingly chuckled and gave her what could pass for a smile. “Noted.”

 

A door slammed shut at that specific moment and for the third time, Rebecca jumped and then blinked when a larger, more buff turtle meandered into the home, red splashed across his eyes.

 

“Raph, you’re right on time for dinner!” Michelangelo called in greeting from the kitchen.

 

“Please tell me he’s the last one,” she whispered quickly to Donatello, as Splinter and Leonardo moved forward to discuss something briefly with Raphael. Rebecca could make out words such as ‘patrol’ and ‘Purple Dragons’ before she focused her attention back to Donatello.

 

“I may have more hidden in the back,” he smirked at her. “Living off the grid and all, we need to know if we can sustain our species—ouch!”

 

Rebecca shook her hand out, still smarting from the quick punch to Donatello’s thick shoulder. “Serves you right. You have to stop giving me excuses to punch you.”

 

Raphael finally stepped closer to Rebecca, looking at her curiously. He wasn’t quite as intense as Leonardo had been but he had more height and weight on him than his oldest brother. He didn’t offer a hand like Leonardo and Splinter had but instead gave her a quick nod.

 

“Raphael—Raph’s better,” was all he said before heading towards the dinner table where Michelangelo was finishing the place settings and fiddling with a center piece that appeared like it could have been made out of pizza boxes.

 

“Grub’s on,” Michelangelo grinned at her, winking.

 

She surveyed the table and nodded, impressed. Michelangelo had done a nice job—cloth napkins, glasses of water ( _clean_ water, she noted) and... a distinct lack of Western silverware. Wooden chopsticks littered each place setting and Rebecca began panicking slightly. There was a reason she stuck to eating sushi via takeout at her own apartment—she’d never learned how to master chopsticks unlike the rest of the sushi eating population.

 

Michelangelo guided her into a seat, conveniently between Donatello and Leonardo, and the rest of the family began to tuck in, pouring soy sauce and passing the different sushi rolls back and forth with ease. Rebecca gingerly picked up the chopsticks and attempted to side eye Donatello to capture what he was doing. _How the hell is he managing this with three fingers versus my five?_

 

“So, Becky—,” Michelangelo started, half a roll of sushi in his mouth. “Donny says you’re a grad student. What’s that? Sounds kinda...boring.”

 

Donatello coughed violently before screeching “Mikey!”

 

Rebecca stilled her chopsticks, grateful for the distraction. For some reason she couldn’t pinpoint, his presence put her at ease. “It can be, but I love it. Basically, I get paid to go to school and do research and the like and when I graduate, I’ll have my doctorate in English Literature. I’ll be ‘Dr. Rebecca Maitland’.”

 

“But not like a _real_ doctor, right?” This time Leonardo shot Michelangelo a glare and Rebecca suppressed a giggle. Some might find the line of questioning offensive but she was happy to find someone working to break the ice. It edged away some of the pressure she was feeling.

 

“Doctor of Philosophy, technically,” she explained.

 

“So...still not a real doctor?”

 

“A doctor of the mind and education, Michelangelo,” Splinter interjected, taking a small sip of water.

 

“Gotta admit, dudette, it’s a little weird...”

 

Her smile deepened and she picked up her chopsticks again. “That’s what my parents said. I just love English—I hope to teach at a college—hopefully NYU will offer me a position as a lecturer when I graduate.” Rebecca bit her lip in thought, trying to arrange the chopsticks clumsily in her hands. She felt another pair of eyes on her and saw Leonardo staring at her, an eyeridge raised.

 

“Are you alright, Rebecca? Donny did mention you like sushi.”

 

Red flushed to her cheeks. “I do!” She squeaked, as she suddenly felt five pairs of eyes shift to her. “It’s just—you know, I eat it mostly at home and never out and--,.”

 

“Here.” Raphael reached across the table and grabbed the chopsticks out of her hand, pulling a piece of twine out of his belt. He fiddled with the pair for a few seconds and handed them back to her. The chopsticks were tied together at the end and Rebecca realized she could move them up and down.

 

“Er—thanks, Raph...” She trailed off, unsure of how to respond to the abrupt but nice gesture.

 

Raphael shrugged, turning back to his meal and holding his chopsticks like a professional. “Not a problem. Sensei did it for me when I was little—I took longer to learn then the rest of these chumps.”

 

“Not the only thing that took longer,” Donatello snorted, taking a bite of his sushi. Raphael shot a glare that could curdle dairy but with some humor behind it.

 

“Care to fight it out after dinner, Donny boy?”

 

Donatello shot his brother a grin. “I could wipe you under the table with my bo.”

 

“Psht! As if, I can take you ALL ON with my nunchucks!” Michelangelo joined in, beaming. He shot Rebecca a look, almost in an attempt for her to agree.

 

“Sorry,” Leonardo whispered on Rebecca’s left and she glanced at him, surprised at his casual tone. “This is how most of our dinners go...unfortunately.”

 

“It’s fine,” she whispered back, offering another smile.

 

As she listened to the bantering among the brothers, she felt the tension ease slightly out of her shoulders as she picked up a piece of sushi successfully with her chopsticks and dunked it in soy sauce. Nostalgia flowed through her. She saw her own family on school breaks but since moving to New York, visits home were few and far between and dinner most nights consisted of eating alone, planted in front of a laptop typing. Rebecca found herself slowly growing accustomed to the rhythm of this family, and even joined in on the laughter after a few minutes with Splinter recounting a story from their childhood.

 

It was almost as if she had always been here and not at the same time. Gradually, Rebecca let herself imagine doing this on a regular basis, coming down here to them, having them as a second family. They were not all that different, really, aside from the mutant thing. In fact, if you closed your eyes, it almost like you were listening to a normal, _human_ family.

 

Maybe...maybe this could be a thing that worked?

 

_Could...could it work with Don?_ The unfiltered thought floated through her mind and she moved quickly to dash it down with a quick swing of water.

 

_Don’t get too far ahead of yourself, Rebecca._

 

****

 

Hours ago, Rebecca had been considering asking Donatello if maybe dinners with his family could be a recurring thing where she could get to know them and vice versa. Over the course of the dinner, they had grown on her. She wanted to know about Splinter’s past, Leonardo’s training techniques. She wanted to know Michelangelo’s recipes and how he managed to feed his family with limited resources. She wanted to know the brand of cigarettes Raphael smoked because she had seen a pack resting against his belt. She wanted to know what Donatello really thought of her and if this...thing between them was more than just friendship.

 

Now...now she wasn’t even sure she understood how this all worked. And what things Donatello _hadn’t_ told her.

 

It had started simply enough. Dinner had finished and Rebecca had followed suit with everyone to the makeshift living room to watch TV while Michelangelo put the finishing touches on dessert. Out of nowhere, an alarm rang, blaring like a fog horn, and the brothers were moving immediately on cue, dishes and TV abandoned. A controlled type of chaos erupted and Rebecca could only watch, frozen to the spot, unable to provide any assistance.

 

“Donny, status report?!” Leonardo shouted across the room as he fitted two large swords onto the back of his shell. Rebecca stared, trying to stay out of the way as Raphael moved swiftly past her shoving two smaller, sharper weapons into his belt that resembled forks.

 

Donatello had a tablet out that Rebecca had never seen before and his face was scrunched up in concentration, tapping across it rapidly. “Purple Dragon activity...hostages may be involved...shots fired.”

 

“We gotta get going!” Michelangelo yelled, pressing buttons in the kitchen that silenced the screeching alarm. “Hun’s been crazy as hell lately with this crap!”

 

“Be careful, my sons,” Splinter stated, standing in a corner. “Remember how unpredictable the gangs have been lately...”

 

“On it, Sensei,” responded Leonardo, tugging open a brick wall out of nowhere. “Come on guys—let’s get moving!”

 

The world was spinning. Rebecca had no idea where to focus her attention, no clue what was going on. She grabbed Donatello as he sprinted past her and he whirled to face her as if he had forgotten she had been there in the first place.

 

“Don—what—I don’t understand--?”

 

“Stay here with Sensei,” he said firmly, hands on her shoulders. “I’ll be back soon and then I’ll take you home.” He turned to leave her, fastening his bo staff to his back. She reached out to grasp his shoulder.

 

“That still doesn’t explain--!”

 

“ _Rebecca,_ ”his voice was thick and rigid, brokering no argument. It was like he had slapped her. Tears suddenly pricked her eyes—for the first time in their friendship, she was in the way, a burden.

 

He sighed, shaking his head at her as he noticed the tears. “I have no time to explain—people could be hurt.” Donatello finally turned and jogged towards Leonardo, who was holding the brick door open. Before the brick doors snapped shut, his brown eyes caught her green ones.

 

“I’ll be back.”

 

Rebecca wasn’t so sure.

 

***

“Did you enjoy the stories, Miss Maitland?” Master Splinter asked, seated at her side on the couch. “I find myself not believing Donna had nothing to do with Stephanie’s murder.”

 

Rebecca nodded softly, staring at the cup of green tea Splinter had made for her. It felt like days, when in reality the four brothers had only been gone for a few hours at most. If someone had told her six months ago that at some point in her life, she’d be sitting in a sewer watching DVR’d episodes of a soap opera with a mutated rat, she would have laughed hysterically.

 

Funny what meeting Donatello had done to her life in a few, short months.

 

When Splinter had first suggested watching the soap operas, she’d been flabbergasted. Wasn’t he worried? Didn’t he want to know what his sons would be doing with those weapons, where they were going?

 

“Aren’t you worried?” She blurted out, wrenching her head up from her cup to glare at him. He had been nothing but kind to her since she’d arrived but that did nothing to quell the anger and frustration that coursed through her. Donatello had not made this part of his life clear.

 

_This was never discussed, never mentioned._

The rat started at her for a few moments, expression unchanged.

 

“You are worried,” he acknowledged, nodding in agreement. “I can understand why.”

 

Rebecca fought down the annoyance that threatened to rise to the surface with his lack of an answer. Of course she was worried. They—Donatello—were out fighting and from what it seemed like, they could possibly _die._

“To answer your question...” Splinter interrupted her thoughts and moved towards the kitchen to pour himself a fresh cup of tea. “I worry all the time, Miss Maitland.” He paused, pouring the tea. “A father always does.”

 

He walked back to the couch and sat closer to her this time, facing her. Heat flushed Rebecca’s cheeks. Of course he would be worried...it had been awful of her to even think he wouldn’t.

 

“What has Donatello told of your our life?” The question echoed between them and she tried to will an apology toward him in her mind.

 

“Not much,” Rebecca offered quietly, setting the cup of tea down, unfinished. Her stomach couldn’t handle it. “He—he mentioned the ninja training but not much else...”

 

Splinter nodded, taking a sip of tea. “I am not surprised—my sons were told from an early age to keep much of their lives and their existence a secret. You can understand, Miss Maitland, why we take such precautions?”

 

“Yes,” her mouth quirked. “It was sort of the unspoken thing I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about Don or a family. I just--,” she stood up suddenly, pacing in front of the coffee table. “ _None_ of this makes sense. _Why_ are they up there? _Who_ are they fighting? _What is the point to all of this?!”_

 

Her words reverberated off the walls and tears of frustration pricked her eyes. _What the hell have I gotten into?_

The rat only stared at her, thoughtful, and she covered her face with her hands to avoid his gaze.

 

“I—I’m sorry, Master Splinter. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be taking this out on you.” Her voice croaked and she took a deep breath. “Don—he never explained this, never told me.”

 

Another moment of silence passed and the only sound that could be heard was Rebecca’s attempts to get her breathing under control.

 

“I accept your apology,” Splinter replied, offering a small smile to comfort her. “Sadly, it is not my place to say precisely—Donatello will explain when he is ready. He is old enough now to handle the explanation of his existence and purpose. But, perhaps...” he trailed off, lost in thought. “Perhaps, I can at least offer you my story. Would that suffice?”

 

“If you wouldn’t mind...sir?” Rebecca asked, adding the last part as an afterthought. She needed to treat this person with more respect. He didn’t deserve her anger and resentment.

 

That...that she would be saving for Donatello when she demanded an explanation.

 

The gray rat settled comfortably into the couch and began to speak. He recounted his end of the story, how he’d once been human and fallen in love with a human woman named Tang Shen. How their love had been ripped suddenly apart by a man named Oroku Saki who couldn’t handle the object of his affections loving another. How the man Oroku Saki became a monster who went by Shredder and spread death and destruction everywhere he went.

 

“I found my sons not long after becoming what I am now.” Splinter surmised. “Donatello, I am sure, will finish the rest. As it is now their story to tell.”

 

Disbelief clouded Rebecca’s brain. The mutant thing had been something to adapt to but she’d managed. This—this whole _history_ was beyond anything else she could have imagined. She didn’t know what to do, how to react. It was unreal—something someone read in a comic book but here it was, staring her straight in the face.

 

She was living it.

 

“Thank you, for telling me, Master Splinter,” she finally managed. “It’s just...a lot to handle.”

 

His paw landed softly on her shoulder and she didn’t flinch but instead caught his eyes, somewhat similar in color to Donatello’s.

“You have choices here, Miss Maitland. The lives my sons lead are far beyond comprehension—it is much to expect of someone, to understand and accept this.”

There was something more to that, something he wasn’t saying and Rebecca couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“I can’t even begin to make that decision,” she sputtered. “Not—not when I don’t know what I should.”

Almost on cue, a loud bang sounded from the entrance and the four turtles flooded in and the pandemonium began all over again. Leonardo was shouting orders for specific supplies that Michelangelo fled to the area behind to kitchen to get. Raphael came from behind, with Donatello leaning on him and—

 

_Blood._

There was blood dripping down Donatello’s arm, from a large gash in his forearm. It was all Rebecca could see. Before she was aware of what was going on, she flew in front of him, kneeling as Raphael sat him down on a chair.

 

“What. Happened?” She demanded, her lips set in a grim line.

 

Donatello grimaced when he saw her and pressed a towel that Leonardo had handed him to the open wound. “Purple Dragon wasn’t happy when he saw me trying to jab a tracker into his pocket.” He threw a small, green chip onto the table. “Decided he’d show me personally with a knife how much it _wasn’t_ appreciated.”

 

“Got the kit, Donny!” Michelangelo shouted, tossing a large first aid kit on the table.

 

The jolt of the kit distracted Rebecca enough and she was able to make out smaller injuries on the others. There was a bruise forming around one of Raphael’s eyes, several scratches along Michelangelo’s throat and scrapes along the sides of Leonardo’s shoulders.

 

Everywhere she looked there were scrapes and cuts and bruises. Injuries all around and everyone was eerily calm, even with Donatello bleeding at the table.

 

“Want me to do it, Donny?” Leonardo asked, taking a seat next to his brother and opening up the kit.

 

“Nah...I got it,” Donatello winced, grabbing the antiseptic and pouring it onto the gash. “I think it’ll only have to take a few stitches.”

 

“ _Stitches_?” Rebecca shrieked, glancing around frantically. All four pairs of eyes watched her, confused.

 

Michelangelo was the first to offer an explanation. “It’s pretty normal for us, Becky...we’ve actually walked away with a lot worse.”

 

“Worse?” She repeated, standing up and backing away. Donatello was now taking a needle that Leonardo had threaded and she watched incredulously as he started to sew the wound close, barely cringing.

 

A conversation came back to her from several weeks ago.

 

_“I retake them every few years. Just to keep my skills up. You could say I’m the doctor of the family.”_

_“Interesting,” she contemplated this for a moment. “Do they get sick a lot?”_

_“Hurt, actually...” he trailed off, quiet. “It’s the ninja thing.”_

A ninja thing.

 

She realized now this should have been more evident then. She’d seen the kung fu movies, she’d seen enough action films.

 

Ninja things could get you killed.

 

***

 

The walk home was awkward, to say the least.

 

Donatello hadn’t been able to carry Rebecca on his shell this time with his bandaged and stitched arm and instead, she’d been dragged blindfolded through the sewers, her feet soaked with only God knows what.

 

They sat now on the bed in her apartment and Rebecca fingered a cigarette in between her hands. Few words had barely been spoken between them from the time they’d left the lair and Donatello hadn’t even offered one disparaging word on the two cigarettes Rebecca had already inhaled.

 

It was her who finally spoke.

 

“You’ve got a lot to explain,” she stated softly, rubbing her third cigarette into the ash tray, finished. “You never told me about any of this.”

 

Donatello glared at her, suddenly, anger irrationally taking hold. “I told you I was a ninja—!”

 

“Well, you withheld a lot of _fucking_ information,” she fired back, shooting daggers towards him. “I didn’t know about patrols or the superhero bit. God, Don—,”. She stood up and began to pace the length of the bed. “All I kept thinking was how I never knew about your life outside of my apartment. And how you could’ve been _hurt_ and no one would have ever told me because they didn’t know about me since you _lied to your family._ ”

 

He almost countered that at least his brothers had known since he’d tracked her for a solid two weeks and went through all the personal records he could find. But, it wasn’t a leg to stand on and he knew it. If he mentioned it, he’d be forced to explain how he knew more about her than she had revealed. And there was no way of getting around that—at all.

 

“I’m sorry, okay?” Donatello apologized, standing up and grabbing Rebecca’s arm to stop her pacing. “I should have explained things a little more but, Becca,”.

 

She wrenched her arm out of his grasp, seething. “No. No, you don’t get to do that. Not after you left me there, with no explanation, with no way of knowing if I was ever going to see you again. I mean--,” her voice broke and tears spilled without warning down her cheeks as she placed a hand softly on the bandage of his arm. “ _You could’ve died_.”

 

They breathed heavy for a few moments, unmoving, the energy in the room slowly shifting. Donatello could feel the warmth of her hand, even through the bandage. He swallowed loudly and, gradually, his eyes met hers. Time was slowing down and he wondered if he could plead losing control over his actions for what might happen next. His arms moved of their own accord across her back, pulling her closer.

 

Rebecca wanted to say something but her mouth wouldn’t work. She didn’t understand quite what was happening as Donatello’s arms tightened around her. Her heart beat so fast she was sure it was going to burst through her chest. The tears flowing down her cheeks dried and all she could do was stare.

 

“Don?” She whispered after a moment, his eyes still boring into her own. She couldn’t move, she could barely think.

 

“ _Shh_ ,” he managed. And before she knew it, a hand was cradling the back of her head and was being propelled forward.

 

_This...this can’t be happening._                                                                                              

 

His mouth touched hers and the whole world seemed to stop. Without even realizing it, she pressed back against him, eyes closing and arms moving across his neck to bring him even closer.

 

It took a second for Rebecca to adjust to this new, yet not unpleasant reality. Donatello was kissing her. She was kissing a mutant turtle. And it wasn’t awful it was...pleasant. It was nice. And he was soft and there was a spark there, something small that ignited, something she had never felt with any other human male she’d kissed.

 

They were like magnets, attracted to each other beyond all reason. He shifted his head and she followed, not wanting to break the kiss. They stayed that way for several more minutes, just lips moving back and forth, enjoying the sensation. She was just about to open her mouth to him when he finally pulled back and leaned his head against her forehead, taking deep and steady breaths. Her eyes lazily opened and she took in this new sight, concentrating on her breathing.

 

“What was that...?” Rebecca murmured after a beat, still holding tight to his neck.

 

“I—I don’t know,” Donatello stammered, stepping back to peer into her eyes. “It—it can be whatever you want it to be.” He swallowed and his voice was thick. “If you—if you regret--,”.

 

“I don’t. I don’t regret it,” she said, firmly, shaking her head. “But, if this is what I _think_ it is...we have a lot of talking to do.”

 

Donatello nodded in agreement and slowly pulled away. “Can you—can you give me a few days? I promise—I’ll come clean and we’ll talk—no holds barred and everything be explained—but I need to discuss this—with my family.”

 

She gave him an affirmative nod, her eyes shifting to her bed. “No, I understand. It’s a big step—I get it.”

 

His hand grazed her cheek and she lifted her eyes back to his. “I promise, Becca. I will explain everything.” What would pass for his thumb stroked her cheek and she closed her eyes in response, sighing contentedly. It was scary how easy it would be to get used to this.

 

“You should get to bed,” he finally said, clearing his throat. “I know you have papers and such to work on.”

 

“Yeah—yeah I do,” she agreed. “Text me?”

 

“Always,” he responded, watching her carefully for a moment. Before he could have a second thought, he ducked quickly and kissed her cheek before slipping out her window onto her fire escape.

 

“Goodnight, Becca.” And with that, he disappeared into the night.

 

She stood there silently, watching her curtain flap in the breeze of the open window and a grin spread across her face as her hand stroked her cheek where he had kissed her.

 

Rebecca didn’t know where this was going but she was happy. Very happy.

 

***

The next morning came far too soon. Rebecca whipped about her apartment, throwing her hair up in a ponytail. She was due at NYU in a half hour to submit her final grades for underclassmen’s papers and she’d overslept, thanks to her inability to set an alarm after last night’s events.

 

A stupid grin flitted across her face as she thought of Donatello’s kiss and her thoughts went goofy. He was finally going to come clean. And they might be able to make some progress past this friendship line.

 

Suddenly, without warning, Rebecca tripped over a pile of books on the floor and her phone slipped out of her hands, flying across the room to hit up against the wall. She winced as she heard the telltale sign of electronic equipment rattling. Quickly, she rushed over to the phone to survey the damage while doing mental math calculations in her head over the costs of a new iPhone. Her eyes caught sight of a green chip lying inexplicably next to the phone.

 

Nowhere in Rebecca’s memory did she ever remember seeing iPhones having this type of green chip fly out of them. Come to think of it, this green chip did look familiar...

 

A memory from the night before came unbidden into her mind.

 

_“Purple Dragon wasn’t happy when he saw me trying to jab a tracker into his pocket.” He threw a small, green chip onto the table. “Decided he’d show me personally with a knife how much it wasn’t appreciated.”_

 

The blood in her veins went white hot and then ice cold as the realization of the chip’s origin dawned on her.

 

_Research,_ she thought quietly to herself, beginning to shake with anger.

 

_I need to do research._


	11. Blame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman, various publishers including but not limited to Image and Mirage Comics, Paramount Pictures, 4kids and Nickelodeon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Only thing I own is Rebecca Maitland.
> 
> Author's Note: Thank you to all who reviewed last chapter! I’m shocked I still have people interested in this little tale. Today’s chapter was one of the hardest I’ve ever written, so I’d appreciate any feedback you have on things have gone.
> 
> And, as always, please feel free to review if your are so inclined!
> 
> ***

**_ERROR C67.1: INPUT NOT FOUND._ **

****

The error message blinked at Donatello incessantly as he slammed his fingers down on the keyboard, bringing up a DOS program to clear it out as a long and impressive string of curse words flew out of his mouth. A few checks into the lair security in the early morning hours had proven to be anything but simple and now the purple clad turtle was regretting his decision to ever tinker with it.

 

To be perfectly fair, Donatello had been up tinkering most of the night. After the events that had unfolded with Rebecca the previous evening, he found sleep was the last thing on his mind. Thus, Michelangelo’s gaming system was now upgraded with a newer functioning hard drive, he set up the e-reader they’d splurged on for Leonardo for the upcoming Christmas holiday and the DVR in the living room was now configured to catch both Raphael’s football games and Splinter’s television programs at the same time without interruption.

 

It had been a productive night.

 

The digital clock he normally kept near him had shorted out days ago due to a recent power surge, so he was operating blind in terms of the time. From what he could tell, he still had yet to hear the telltale signs of Michelangelo beginning breakfast preparations and, somewhere off in the distance, he could hear Raphael’s snoring, so he knew it couldn’t be too early in the morning.

 

_Sleep soon..._ he thought to himself, as he stifled a yawn. _You’re going to need it._

 

By the time Donatello had arrived home the previous evening, everyone else had been in bed, clearly exhausted from the run in they’d had with the Purple Dragons. Despite the relatively minor injuries, the turtles had been successful in freeing the hostages from the Purple Dragons who, from all intents and purposes, seemed to have been in the midst of another turf war.

 

However, it hadn’t escaped anyone’s notice (most particularly Raphael’s) that the hostages they freed were clearly not from the local area and were all, very, notably female. Donatello had a hunch in the back of his mind as to what they were dealing with but Leonardo didn’t care much for hunches—he wanted answers and concrete proof. And, if the chip he _had_ managed to snag on one Purple Dragon would show anything, they’d be moving quickly soon.

 

In the meantime, he sighed, leaning back in his chair, staring at the blinking lights of his monitor outlining the security system as it rebooted. His eyes closed for a brief moment and an image of Rebecca, her lips pursed and eyes closed, floated into his mind. If he imagined just hard enough, she was there with him, lips moving across his mouth, soft and unsure, poised just right on the tip of his desk...

 

_Not now, Donny._

 

Suddenly, without warning, he sat up and wheeled over to another monitor, punching in controls to adjust his keyboard to the new monitor. Several encrypted files appeared on the screen and he scrolled through several of them, before finally opening one up with a string of passwords.

 

_Maitland, Rebecca S._

The file title scrolled across the top of the screen and several files, records of Rebecca’s entire life floated in front of him. He gulped, hitting the key as he floated past each one. He’d look at them all before and the normality of her life gave him pause—the fact that he knew this much about her even more so. Hesitating, he stopped on a file with a map of New York City and geological coordinates.

 

Everything in this file made him cringe but none more than this particular document.

 

The recordings of all of Rebecca’s comings and goings from when he’d placed that chip into her phone, until turning it off two weeks later. Every text message, every phone call, and every place she traveled to within a range of one hundred miles was documented here.

 

“How are you going to get yourself out of this one?” He muttered to himself, noting with some wry amusement that Rebecca hadn’t ventured far within that two week period—NYU and back home, to her apartment, with a few stops at takeout places and cafes for coffee in between.

 

It wasn’t right, knowing this much about a person, without their knowledge.

 

It was amazing, truly, how far things had gotten with Rebecca. Fate hadn’t been kind that night. She wasn’t supposed to see him. He wasn’t supposed to keep seeing her.

 

And yet...yet against all odds, here they were, a friendship established a few short months later with a possible ‘more’ lingering on the edge.

 

Leonardo’s voice filtered through his mind, a familiar set of lectures coming forth on the topic, while never fully explained, was heavily implied.

 

No romantic entanglements, period, male or female. April and Casey were the exceptions to a long standing rule regarding human relationships.

 

_I thought Raph was supposed to be the rebel,_ he thought, sighing and scrolling through Rebecca’s records again. A photo of her appeared on the last few pages, eyes bright and smiling with a graduation cap on her head, holding up a degree that proudly proclaimed her Bachelor of Arts degree in both English and History. A finger hovered over the ‘next’ button as he stared at it.

 

It had been stupid and selfish of him to pursue a friendship with her. His every interaction with her put her closer to danger, of being used as a pawn against him and his family. Logic and rationality told him he should stop this now, before it progressed even further from where they were. Let her think he had faded away and let her move forward in a quiet life. He could block her number from his phone and she had no way of ever finding her way to their home through the sewer maze of tunnels and ladders. He’d avoid the library at NYU. It was easy—rip the bandage off and scour the wound, make it whole and clean.

 

Of its own accord, his hand touched bandaged part of his arm where her own had been hours earlier.

 

There hadn’t been anyone except Casey and April in their daily lives. And that, Donatello realized, was what hurt the worst. He wanted Rebecca there in his life. He wanted her laughter and her tears and just. Her. All of _her._

Rebecca would never be satisfied if this stopped now. She’d never rest until she figured out what happened to him. He could hear her now, her voice echoing that he _knew her better than this_ and that she deserved to make this decision with all the facts. This was no longer only his choice to make—she was in too deep now. Explaining his life and his duty was key and she needed to understand his life if this was going to go somewhere. His family was at stake and _he’d had to be sure_ —he’d apologize and she would determine, then, if she could stand him enough in all he had hidden from her to move forward.

 

It wasn’t an easy reality to face, having to justify this, _all of this_ , to her but he’d rather live a life without her, knowing she learned all about his life ( _the Foot, the Purple Dragons, Stockman, Bishop..._ ) rather than shielding his world from her day after day for a few moments of happiness.

 

Clean slates happened every day and Donatello was wiping his blank.

 

_Starting...now._

 

A few keys were hit and a message appeared on the screen, the light reflecting off his face, brown eyes narrowed in quiet determination

 

**_Are you sure you want to delete file title ‘Maitland, Rebecca S.’?_ **

****

_Yes I am._

 

***

 

“So...you want to date her?” Raphael concluded, staring at Donatello as he came to a stop in front of the couch.

 

All three of his brothers and father were gathered for this family meeting, staring at him attentively. Two days had passed since the incident with Rebecca and he’d spent most of them crafting discussion points and arguments to win them over. Donatello was used to being under the gun, especially in explaining complex situations and new electronic equipment.

 

Telling his family he wanted their blessing to pursue Rebecca, a human woman, romantically?—this wasn’t something he’d ever expected to do.

 

“I’d...like the dating to be an option,” he replied, shooting a glance in the other direction. “The rest is up to her once I clarify...everything.”

 

“Dude, I’m not sure how you can exactly date her,” Michelangelo stated, scratching his head. “It’s not like you can really, you know, _take_ her places....”

 

“Mikey,” Leonardo admonished from his part of the couch, leaning forward, staring at his youngest brother.

 

“I’m serious, Leo! And, Donny, what are you going to do about, you know, the _other_ stuff? I remember the birds and the bees talk Sensei gave us and it did _not_ include how we could with human—,”.

 

“ _Mikey,”_ Raphael hissed, hitting his youngest brother up against the head. “Shut. Up.”

 

Michelangelo shot a glare at his two oldest brothers and, despite their warnings, continued. “Look, I don’t make it a point to look at your guy’s, well...you know...” He gestured towards the bottom of his shell, in between his thighs. “But I know from _mine_ that it might not fit--,”.

 

“MICHELANGELO!” Raphael and Leonardo both shouted simultaneously and then stared at each other in surprise. Eyes narrowed and within seconds, the three were shouting amongst themselves, Raphael telling Leonardo to back off and vice versa and Michelangelo chiming in that this was a _legitimate concern._

Donatello could only stare at the chaos in utter disbelief and disgust.

 

“ _YAMETE!”_ Splinter finally roared from his chair and all four jumped, turning their focus to their father.

 

“ _Your brother has not finished,”_ he whispered harshly, clearing his throat, shifting his gaze back towards Donatello.

 

“Sorry, Sensei,” all three mumbled in unison, turning their attention back to him

 

There was no way to be certain but Donatello was quite sure if it could be seen through his green skin, his entire face would be scorched red. This—this was not how he had intended this conversation to go. Sex...sex was definitely something that would need to be discussed between him and Rebecca later, if this somehow all worked out.

 

He’d be picking up the research he’d started on that when he was just shy of eighteen...

 

“Anyway,” he cleared his throat, working to meet his family’s eyes. “I would appreciate your support and blessing in pursuing this new path.”

 

“Jesus Christ Donny, she’s a chick, not a science experiment,” Raphael muttered, shaking his head, ashamed.

 

He felt embarrassment gnawing at him again and he shot Raphael a glare. Clearly, he wasn’t good at this. At all.

 

Tension filled silence permeated the air as Donatello stared at his brothers and six pairs of eyes stared back, unsure of where to proceed next in this series of events.

 

Splinter gave a small sigh from his chair at the long pause that followed and spoke first. “You care greatly for this Miss Maitland, Donatello?”

 

“I do,” he said in a rush, sincerity reflected in his voice.

 

“And you have no reason to believe, in your interactions with her over the last few months, that she would bring harm and danger to our family?”

 

“None,” he babbled, suspiciously hopeful. “None at all.”

 

His father considered this for a moment. “You shall have my blessing, then. Keeping that Miss Maitland adheres to keeping our family safe.”

 

Donatello’s face brightened considerably. Splinter was, at times, the most unpredictable in his actions. Hopefully his brothers would follow in the same vein.

 

_One down, three more to go..._ “Thank you, Sensei,” he smiled softly, offering a bow as a way of thank you.

 

“Can I still call her Becky?” Michelangelo inquired, watching his brother carefully. “And will she actually learn how to use chopsticks the _right_ way?”

 

“...I can’t make any promises, Mikey, but I can work on it with her,” He offered, looking confused.

 

Michelangelo nodded, oddly thoughtful. “I like her—she’s sweet, if not as much of a nerd as you are. She’s good for you. And I think she could be good for us too.” He shot his elder brother a thumbs up. “A-okay with me, dude.”

 

Donatello smiled and gave himself a silent pat on the back. _Two more..._

Raphael leaned forward on the couch, elbows on top of his knees, lost in thought for a moment before speaking.

 

“Do you love her?”

 

The purple masked turtle mouth hung open and he stared at his brother, totally at a loss for words. Was this Raphael asking this question? _Raphael?_

“Er...well...” He stammered, still not understanding the question. “Come again?”

 

Raphael rolled his eyes and repeated himself slowly. “Do. you. love. her?”

 

Heat rushed through his body and confusion immediately flooded his mind. Love—well, it was a little too early for love, wasn’t it? He was almost certain he loved _things_ about Rebecca—how she threw her hair up into a bun, how her glasses tipped forward on her nose constantly and how she listened so intently when he spoke, and how she liked to goad him into debates just to annoy him...

 

But he did love _her,_ as all that she was and would be?

 

“I...I could love her,” Donatello said hesitantly, forehead scrunched in heavy concentration. “I could see myself loving her.”

 

Raphael considered this and nodded, leaning back into the couch, seemingly satisfied with his brother’s answer. “Good. That’s good. You’re thinking ‘bout this.” His hazel eyes flicked up to meet Donatello’s brown. “You shouldn’t be asking what you’re going to ask her if you can’t see yourself loving her—you’re going to be asking a hell of a lot of her, Donny. Remember that.”

 

A hush fell then at Raphael’s serious tone and Donatello swallowed, trying anything to wet his dry throat as his words echoed through his mind.

 

A few minutes passed and his eyes shifted warily towards his oldest brother who watched him, intently, no trace of any emotions on his face.

 

Leonardo was going to be hardest to convince. He’d known this from the moment he’d left Rebecca’s the other night.

 

And Donatello was going to have to except whatever answer his leader was going to give—it was all or nothing.

 

Leonardo spoke after a moment, softly but firmly. “What happens if she doesn’t want this?”

 

He’d already considered this.

 

“I fade away,” he explained gently, eyes never wavering from Leonardo’s. “I leave her alone.”

 

“And would she tell? Can you _truly_ trust her with us, Donny?” Leonardo’s voice shook with authority. He was the leader—the questions he asked had to be hardest. If anything happened to their family, it fell to Leonardo to see them through it.

 

Donatello was grateful some days that burden had never been laid at his feet.

 

“Yes—we can.”

 

His eldest brother contemplated his answer before speaking. “Two conditions. One—I get to talk to her— _alone_ ,” Leonardo emphasized, continuing. “Two—your relationship with her doesn’t impact your commitment to this family and your duty.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t have you slacking, Donny. We need you.”

 

“I know,” Donatello sighed, suddenly very tired. “Trust me, Leo— _I know._ ”

 

“Okay,” Leonardo nodded, agreeing. “Okay—you have my blessing to continue seeing Rebecca like—er,” He paused, uncertain how to phrase it. “As a...love—that’s not right either...”

 

“You have permission to bang her, Donny,” Raphael finished for his brother, shooting him a grin. “Congrats—I’ll want the details later.”

 

“Raph!” Leonardo scolded. “That’s not what I meant!”

 

“Why can Raph talk like that and I can’t?!” Michelangelo whined. “Dude, that’s _totally_ not fair!”

 

Donatello didn’t pay any attention as the meeting dissolved into chaotic bickering and he wandered back into his lab.

 

This was happening. This was real.

 

He couldn’t stop beaming.

 

***

A fistful of slightly wilted roses were clutched tightly in a green hand in the cool, late November night. Donatello perched himself on the roof across the street from her apartment, noting the familiar gleam of light shining from Rebecca’s apartment window.

 

It was a few days following the meeting with his family about himself and Rebecca. Unfortunately, progress on the recent Purple Dragons issues had derailed his immediate plans to see her (mainly some new coordinates that he had not been aware of before) but he determined she knew it would be a few days before she heard from him again. A text to her that morning that had indicated his plans to see her that evening had failed to come back with a response but considering the time of the year and the amount of work Rebecca had hinted at, it was no surprise that she might not be answering texts quickly, if even at all.

 

He sprinted across the roof to her building, landing quietly on the fire escape. A few petals scattered to the ground below him and he cursed softly, annoyed. The flowers had been a last minute idea and the selection available at the small flower stand near Rebecca’s neighborhood had been small. Hopefully, she’d still appreciate the gift.

 

He moved his hand to tap a familiar pattern on her window but he was surprised to find it was already slightly ajar, curtains moving softly in the cold air. From inside, he could hear

music blaring from what he assumed was Rebecca’s computer.

 

_Huh...never heard her listen to that before._

 

Frowning slightly, he pushed the window open and climbed into her apartment, stopping to stare in bewilderment.

 

Something was very, _very_ wrong.

 

Rebecca’s apartment had always been far from neat but it had echoed a sort of organized chaos. Now, papers littered the floor of the apartment, print outs from newspapers and blog sites, all proclaiming the grand work of New York’s finest—the vigilantes known as the Phantoms.

 

 

His heart started beating an erratic pattern. He glanced around frantically, finding Rebecca perched on the end of her small couch, typing wildly. Two empty packs of cigarettes sat haphazardly around her, a third open with cigarettes falling out onto the floor, with one hanging limply from her mouth.

 

Her eyes moved rapidly across the screen, following a train of unseen words.

 

“Becca?” Donatello questioned, oddly still. “What’s going on?”

 

She jumped, startled, and her green eyes flew up to stare at him and he flinched.

 

_God, she looks awful._

Dark circles encased her eyes, and they narrowed at him, blood shot and cold. It was clear she hadn’t slept in days. Her hair, normally kept in a messy bun or braid, fell around her shoulders, a nest of tangles and snarls. Even her clothes looked unkempt, as if she had barely moved from this spot on her couch.

 

The music that had been blaring from her computer came to a sudden halt.

 

“Hello, Donatello,” she said coolly, her voice shaking with unshed emotion.

 

His heart stopped. She had never used his full name before—not once in the months since he’d come to know her.

 

He walked forward, the roses in his hand releasing a few more petals onto the floor as he gripped them tighter.

 

“Rebecca?” He whispered, gulping. “Is something wrong?”

 

She barked a hollow laugh and shoved her laptop to the side, uncaring that it slid to the floor with a bang, falling onto its side.

 

“Yeah, actually, there is a lot _fucking_ wrong now that you mention it.” Her words were short and clipped, icy in their delivery.

 

“Ah,” he answered, distractedly, trying to carefully formulate his next response. “What’s...wrong?”

 

Within seconds, her lit cigarette was thrown into the ashtray by her side. She marched to the dining area of her apartment and came back, gripping a familiar green chip in her fingers so tightly they were turning white.

 

“Do you know what this is, Donatello?” Her voice was eerily calm, like she’d practiced this line and had been just waiting to use it.

 

Stone rocks settled in his stomach. The roses he’d carefully picked out with such care earlier dropped to the floor beside him.

 

“Rebecca,” he started, struggling to remain calm. “I can explain—”.

 

Without warning, she hurled the chip against the wall, and the clatter of it echoed between the two of them, the tension rapidly increasing.

 

“I’d _love_ to hear your explanation, really,” she stated sarcastically. “I’d love to fucking hear how you’ve been following me, for, what has to possibly be fucking _months_. And, while you’re trying to explain that to me—,” she stopped, her breathing going hopelessly erratic, filching a few pieces of paper off the floor aimlessly. “Explain these bodies the so-called Phantoms have left behind. Cause, really, it’s just the icing on top of this _shitty_ cake of a situation.”

 

“Rebecca,” he tried again, slowly, desperate to make her understand this. He was poised somewhere between anger and rage and a futile type of sadness. The grip on his control was dangerously close to shredding to bits and pieces. He had done this. This was _his_ fault. “I was going to tell you— _everything_ —tonight. But, the chip—you have to understand that in my world, with my family, I had to make sure you weren’t dan—,”.

 

“ _Fuck. Your. World,”_ she shouted, tears of rage beginning to make their way down her cheeks. “What about _mine?_ What about _my_ safety? _My life._ Look!--!” A piece of paper was thrust into his face and his blood ran cold.

 

_Shit._

Donatello knew there was underground ‘fandom’ of sorts devoted to the Phantoms. They appeared out of the wood work, almost after every fight, snapping photos, trying to find clues that led to their identity. Whole message boards and websites were devoted to them, extolling their grand virtues in keeping the streets clean. Real life superheroes in the flesh, taking down the gangs and the street violence one battle at a time.

 

God, he _hated_ them. They made it sound so easy, as if his brothers relished taking lives. They tried to avoid it at every cost, when they could, instead leaving them to be found by the police who always arrived sooner or later.

 

Several lifeless bodies from a fight years back glared up at him from the black and white photograph print out. Purple Dragons, most of them. They had won this fight but he remembered it hadn’t felt like it. He’d thrown up as soon as he’d gotten home and Leonardo had been oddly quiet for days.

 

It was one of the first times they’d ever killed.

 

“You’ve killed, haven’t you?” Rebecca whispered, voice cracking.

 

He wanted to turn away, to lie to her and tell her he’d never meant to kill anyone but there had been times—times he couldn’t help it, times when death had been absolutely necessary. A blow to Mikey’s head, a gun pointed at Raph, a sword pointed at Leo. Over the years, they’d all taken a life or two—sometimes several. Donatello would never cheapen the deaths by saying it got easier—because it honestly never did—but it was a growing part of being a ninja. You accepted death and that as a fighter, a defender, death happened sometimes on account of your own hands.

 

“Yes,” he breathed, after a moment. The photo fell from Rebecca’s hands, fluttering onto the floor.

 

Her body was trembling and she walked around, unsteady, aimless. All Donatello could do was watch her, unable to act, unable to do anything. A storm was brewing in his mind.   This wasn’t supposed to happen.

 

_It wasn’t supposed to be like this._

“It wasn’t hard,” Rebecca croaked, her shoulders shaking. “When we first met, you never denied being one of the Phantoms—I should’ve started there, months ago.” Her laugh was cynical. “I didn’t find anything on mutant turtles. The Phantom, thing, though—God, what a _wealth of information.”_ More papers found their way into her hand and she ticked off of a list of familiar names. “Stockman, Bishop...Karai, now, _she_ was interesting—working for the Saki corporation—,”.

“Rebecca—this—it’s hard to get, I know...but, if you would just _listen_ ,” Donatello was making one last attempt to make her _see_. “I turned off the tracking chip after two weeks, once I knew you were safe. I--,” his voice broke, not wanting to reveal this—it was only going to make things worse. “I had to research you too--.”

 

She whirled around to face him, her face contorted into fury, green eyes flashing. “Did you do this to her, too? Did you lie to _her?_ Did she know you killed, that you—that _you live your life like this_?”

 

 

He knew the _her_ she alluded to.

 

Red flooded his field of vision. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, what he was hearing... Rebecca had every right to be angry about this but mentioning _her,_ here, now, when this was between them, about _them_? It wasn’t needed—he be _damned_ if he would allow Rebecca to drag _her_ into this.

 

“ _Shut. Up_ ,” he exploded suddenly, struggling to remain in control. “ _She’s not part of this_ —,”.

 

“Yes. Yes, she is. Is this your _game_?” Papers flew out of her hands, towards him and fluttered around them. “Do you follow us, lure us out of the wood work? Did April—?”

 

It happened too fast. It was the sound of her name, being thrown into a conversation that didn’t deserve her mention. The bo was in his hands and he felt it, felt the flow of air as it swiped down in front of him, echoing along the wooden floors and walls with a loud _crack_. He watched in horror as she jumped at the sound and fell back, startled, into her dining table, knocking books and knickknacks to the floor in a clatter. She stared at him in utter terror, tears falling from her eyes.

 

Raphael was known for his temper but Donatello’s was a slow burn, building and building until it exploded into a million pieces.

 

Breathing was too hard and his brown eyes were narrowed at her, as he wrestled his anger quietly back into submission. He quickly threw the bo out of his hands, to the side, trying to show he wasn’t a threat, that he wouldn’t, could _never_ hurt her. He held his hands out in front of him, as if he were approaching a wounded animal. Unbidden, tears fell down his cheeks, angry at himself for his actions and sadness because she didn’t _understand._

 

“Becca?” He murmured, voice thick. “Becca, I’m _so_ sorry...”

 

“ _Get. Out,_ ” she hissed, hands coming up to cover her face as the sobs finally took over. “ _Just get out.”_

Donatello’s hands balled into fists and all he could do was watch while she howled into her hands. He sighed heavily and moved to secure his bo to his shell again, tears clouding his vision and he walked towards her window, his large feet crushing the petals on the floor from the roses he’d brought earlier.

 

“ _I could’ve loved you,_ ” he heard her sob, pain ripping through him.

 

The wind in the late fall evening blew around him as he climbed out Rebecca’s window. It carried one last word as it fell from her lips, bathed in disappointment and tears.

 

“ _Donny..._ ”

Donatello leapt away from her fire escape before he could hear anymore.

 

He was gone. In a split second, he vanished from her life.


	12. Perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman, various publishers including but not limited to Image and Mirage Comics, Paramount Pictures, 4kids and Nickelodeon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Only thing I own is Rebecca Maitland.
> 
> Author's Note: I am blushing so much, you all. I cannot believe you all are still here, still rooting for Don and Rebecca. God, it means the world. I love you all so much and your reviews, follows, favorites—they ALL keep inspiring me to make sure I get their story finished. They deserve it...and frankly, you all do too.
> 
> This chapter is a bit of filler but important filler, if that makes sense. As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts on it. I highly suggest listening to the version of “Say Something” by Pentatonix (search on Youtube!) while reading this chapter—it was my main source of inspiration. In fact, I’m thinking of putting together a playlist of songs that have inspired this fic—any takers? Actually, I even have a question—what songs make you think of this story and Donatello and Rebecca? I’m always looking for new music.
> 
> Anyway, enough chatting! Onto the story—please review if you are so inclined!
> 
> ***

“So, I was thinking I could focus my paper on how Jane Eyre showcases the in-between struggles of a governess during this time...”

 

It was stupid, really. The fact that there was a poster of that quote in the library.

 

_“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains.”_

 

“There were lots of sources available—I think focusing on class and gender was the right way to go—it’s such a pivotal theme throughout the book...”

 

It was someone’s stupid attempt at humor. A lame way to encourage reading, as the follow up quote on the side indicated with the ‘Be awesome! Be a book nut!’ text . It wasn’t even advertising the real book—which was, by the way, a parody of the original because of the whole zombie fad. In fact, it was dumb to even have a poster like this in a university library because if the students here weren’t already reading—well, they were just _fucked._

 

_God, what a disservice to the original novel._  

 

“...and, well, should I have discussed Christianity more in the paper if I’m focusing more on the governess stuff? Seems like a waste really...”

 

A sudden flash of purple caught her eye and she stared, half expecting to see a green body attached to it. An ache exploded in her chest—( _It can’t be. I won’t believe it until I see it)—_ and then her eyes refocused and she realized instead it was the tails of someone’s scarf, tied loosely around their head in a makeshift headband.

 

The ache increased tenfold.

 

Of course it wasn’t him. It was ludicrous to even think he would be out and about right now—it was in the middle of the day and what need would he have to be in the NYU library? He was never coming back, anyway, and she was doing fine—just _fine_ without him—

 

“Rebecca?” Francesca, the undergrad she’d been tutoring all semester, ducked her head, waving her hand in front of Rebecca’s face. “Are you okay?”

 

Rebecca shook her head and tried to adjust her attention to the situation at hand.

 

“Sorry,” she mumbled apologetically, rubbing her eyes. She plucked up the paper she had in front of her with markings on it and studied it, trying to make sense of the words. “End of semester is getting to me. What did you say again?”

 

The young girl huffed and launched into her explanation again on the thesis and argument of her paper. Mechanically, Rebecca offered a few suggestions to improve it, insisting that, yes; the religious and Christianity nature of the book deserved another paragraph at least.

 

She didn’t miss him. She didn’t miss him at all. She could do this; she could keep living like he never existed.

 

_You’re lying to yourself, Rebecca, and you know it._

***

 

Later that evening found Rebecca back at her apartment, packing. Christmas was the following week and she would be leaving the next day to spend the holidays with her family in Philadelphia. Normally, she relished this time of year—the cold, the holidays and her mother’s famous chocolate chip cookies.

 

This year—this year she wanted to lay down on her bed and sleep until the dull ache in her heart stopped.

 

The twinkling lights decorating the fire escapes on the building across the street caught her eye and she paused midfold of a shirt to study them. Her gaze fell to the top of the roof and for a few moments, she stood there, wondering if he ever came there and watched her, just to make sure she was okay.

 

Honestly, she doubted it.

 

The half folded shirt was abandoned with a quick shove to the side and she grabbed the ever present pack of Marlboro Lights. She threw open the window to her fire escape and she leaned out, placing the ashtray on the cold metal. Within seconds, a cigarette was lit and smoke wafted into the cold air. A chill shot through her body at the freezing temperature and she was oddly grateful for the distraction.

_“You know, smoking is bad for your health.”_

“I know,” she whispered, sucking to inhale as much of the nicotine as she could. She was talking to no one but herself. “You kept reminding me every chance you got.” Tears pricked the insides of her eyes but she blinked them away as quickly as they came.

 

_You managed to make it almost two days without crying this time, Rebecca. Don’t break your record._

To say the last few weeks had been hell would be an understatement.

 

She wished it hadn’t been so easy. A few search terms from her home computer before leaving for NYU that day had shown the proper trail. She had followed it up at the library a few hours later when she was free, printing page after page of information. The names and details swirled together in her mind and the only thing that stuck out were the bodies—so many bodies. It was a large fanbase, she’d realized, digging through web page after web page of questionable content, much of it looking like it was taken from police reports. She didn’t even want to know how some of those photos had appeared on those pages.

It had made so much sense at the time—he’d lied to her to keep this part of his life hidden because he didn’t trust her, because he was some sick mutant freak who enjoyed playing mind games. And, God, the chip—that stupid _fucking_ chip that had started everything.

 

Hurt—she’d been so hurt. To know he knew _everything_ about her and she had known literally nothing about his own life.

 

_I trusted you._

Somehow, in the weeks since, she had tried to get back to a normal life. All her assignments were finished and turned in on time. Invitations from friends were accepted—drinks with Sabrina, coffee with Sara, dancing with Deanna. One spectacular night resulted in at least ten different shots, as if becoming rip-roaring drunk would stop the pain. If anything, it had intensified it.

 

It wasn’t fair, really. It wasn’t fair at all that he’d only been in her life for a few short months and that now that he was gone, there was a huge, gaping hole in her life. There were no more late night chats, no more debates—

 

No more Don.

The cigarette was finished quickly and she brought the ashtray inside, setting it on a random shelf.   She closed the window to block out the cold and sat on her bed, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to bring warmth back into them. Green eyes surveyed her apartment quietly.

 

It was spotless.

 

Books were placed back on the shelf, alphabetical order. No dirty dishes sat in her sink and all the clean ones were put away. Even her bathroom, hidden behind the door, was devoid of any dirt or grime. In the weeks following, she’d scrubbed every inch, every wall clean, trying to rid the place of his memory.

 

But, even despite the cleaning, there was the couch where the two of them sat laughing—there was the spot on the wall she punched the night of that failed date and he offered the dance she never received. The bathroom where he had watched her vomit and clucked over her like a mother hen. The table where he placed Mikey’s home cooked meals, and the place in front of her bed where he had kissed—

 

_Stop._

A vision of a weapon poised above her came to mind, near the table. A dent in the floor lay where it had connected and she winced, remembering the sound. Minutes after he left, a concerned neighbor had come to check on her, having heard the commotion and the shouting.

 

_“It was nothing,” she lied, biting back tears, thankful for the dark light shielding her eyes. “TV was on too loud and I slipped—clumsy me.”_

 

There were the roses too, swept away the following morning when she was trying to get her head straight and make her heart stop hurting. He had actually brought her flowers.

 

No one ever had before.

 

Donatello was etched across every spare centimeter in her home and no amount of scrubbing or bleach was going to block him out.

 

Despite everything that had happened, though, and her attempts to resume normalcy, there was still something that bugged at her that kept that dull ache going. A small, slimmer of a thought that perhaps she had made a mist—

 

Abandoning the packing still unfinished on her bed, Rebecca ducked under it quickly, pulling out a plastic file folder. She dug the papers out and laid them out neatly on her bed, looking through each one.

 

A good researcher always asked questions—if the citations and articles she was looking at were, in any way, inaccurate or biased. If they matched her own conclusions from the text or introduced new, relevant information that could influence her thesis and evidence.

 

Rebecca knew she was a good researcher—a _damn_ good one.

 

In this case, the research wasn’t matching her thesis. It didn’t add up with the picture she had painted of Donatello in her head. He had known her for months at this point—he had invited her into his home, introduced her to his family. She remembered now too—the photos dotting his home of April and a man she assumed was Casey that he had mentioned. They were smiling and laughing—happy. Don had taken care of her when she was sick and been a friend when he didn’t have to be. The bodies and words that stared up from her the pages on the Phantoms didn’t match the Donatello she knew.

 

There was the glimpse of something, though, that she saw that night, when his bo staff had come swinging down. A flash of danger and anger and something more sinister which chilled her to the bone.

 

Donatello had never hidden the fact that he was trained as a ninja—that he _was_ a ninja. She knew he carried a weapon, she knew he purposefully never said much about his family to her. The memory of her conversation with Master Splinter floated back to her.

 

_“You have choices here, Miss Maitland. The lives my sons lead are far beyond comprehension—it is much to expect of someone, to understand and accept this.”_

At the time, she hadn’t understood what that meant but she was beginning to understand, in the best ways she could. The Hamato family had a duty that lay far beyond the realms of Rebecca’s own cognizance. Donatello would always be a part of this grim, dark reality that leaped off the computer print outs she held.

 

A good researcher knew, too, that sometimes the information that _wasn’t_ said was more vital than the information given. Was there more to this, more than she was seeing in these black and white words? She remembered—God, she remembered his promise to tell her everything. It’s why he had come that night, wasn’t it? The roses, the text she had from him she hadn’t seen until days later.

 

_Be by later tonight. It’s going to be new with us—but I’m glad it’s you._

It was the missing source of her argument—the counterpoint to a pivotal debate.

Those weren’t the words, the actions of someone bent on destroying her. They were misguided—

 

A familiar green chip fell out while Rebecca rummaged through pages and her hands stilled suddenly, staring at it.

 

She knew now—she had made a mistake in not listening to Donatello, in not hearing his side of the story. But, as she pushed the papers clumsily back into the file folder and shoved the rest of her packing off the bed to wait until tomorrow, she held onto that green chip, thinking, until it cut into her hand.

 

There was a fine line between admitting wrong and forgiving.

 

She wasn’t ready to forgive yet.

 

_I don’t know if I can._

***

 

“Donny?”

 

It was dark and comfortable, where his exhaustion had settled in. He hadn’t felt this comfortable in ages.

 

A clink, then a hand on the shoulder, shaking.

 

“Donny? Come on dude—we got practice soon...”

 

Donatello sat up suddenly, eyes wrenching open. His eyes focused on his youngest brother standing next to him, a cup of steaming coffee on the desk. He stared blearily from him to the coffee and gingerly picked up the beverage, taking a hesitant sip.

 

Michelangelo rolled his eyes and leaned against the desk. “Two sugars—no cream. I know how you take it.”

 

He nodded, eyes closing for a moment to let the caffeine kick in. He didn’t remember going to bed last night—

 

It was then he saw the black computer monitor and the book laying on its side.

 

Beside him, Michelangelo sighed, crossing his arms. “You feel asleep at your desk again, didn’t you?”

 

Donatello glanced around realizing, yes, he had in fact fallen asleep at the desk again. There was an email due any now to the Purple Dragon he’d been tailing over the last few weeks and he kept staying up, waiting for it. If the encrypted messages made any sense at all, there was going to be a message about an incoming shipment soon. He could feel it.

 

“Thanks for the coffee,” he finally croaked, resting his head in his hands and closing his eyes again. A headache borne from exhaustion was beginning to wreak havoc. Practice was going to be hell this morning.

 

There was blissful silence for a few moments until he heard shifting next to him and pages being flipped. His eyes flew open again and he turned swiftly, trying to grab the book Michelangelo was now holding in his hands, curious. Despite the lack of sleep, Donatello’s reflexes were faster and he ripped the book from his brother’s hands, throwing it quickly into a random drawer at his desk.

 

“Dude!” Michelangelo exclaimed, eyes narrowing. “What the hell?!”

 

“Not. Yours,” Donatello growled, taking another long sip of coffee. _Kick in any time now, caffeine..._

“You’ve been reading a lot lately,” the orange clad turtle commented, eyeridge raised. “When you’re _not_ obsessively tracking down this Purple Dragon, your head is _always_ stuck in a book. You’re worse than Leo.”

 

“Shut it, Mikey,” Donatello grumbled, bringing his computer out of sleep mode. “It’s none of your business.”

 

“Well, _I’m_ making it my business,” he countered, reaching to swivel Donatello’s chair around to face him. “Come on—seriously, talk to me. There’s gotta be a reason you were reading—what was it?...Erin by Jennifer—,”.

 

“ _Emma_ by Jane Austen,” his older brother corrected, pushing his chair back to stand up. Donatello meandered over to a corner of his lab, picking up already organized pipettes and tubes and began reordering them.

 

There was a pause as Michelangelo watched him. After a beat, Michelangelo spoke quietly, oddly serious. “It’s about Becky, isn’t it?”

 

A test tube Donatello was holding shattered in his hand abruptly and he cursed softly, sprinting to the sink to wash the blood and glass shards away.

 

Michelangelo was next to him again and already handing him antiseptic and bandages to seal any cuts to his hand. Once his hand was thoroughly cleaned, Michelangelo tried again, quieter this time.

 

“It _is_ Becky, isn’t it? Damn it, Don—,”.

 

“Don’t,” warned Donatello, closing his eyes. “Just...don’t.”

 

“Don.” Serious Michelangelo appeared again, grasping his brother’s shoulders. “Dude, you gotta talk about this, man. It’s—I can tell it’s killing you.”

 

There was a long pause and Donatello sighed heavily, knowing there was no way to worm his way out of this one. “How did you know?”

 

“I notice things,” Michelangelo smiled sadly. “I know you told us that it hadn’t gone well but you’ve been _way_ more obsessive with work lately—and the book sounds old, man. I know—well, I know she probably dug the old book thing.”

 

“She did,” Donatello replied softly, offering no other explanation.

 

“Leo didn’t want us to bother you,” the younger brother confessed, moving his hands from Donatello’s shoulders, rubbing the back of his neck. “He—he said you’d tell us when you were ready. So...my question to you is...are you ready now?”

 

_No._

The day after his confrontation with Rebecca, Donatello had woken up and made no mentions about her—at all. The cell phone prototypes that had been untested for months were suddenly up and running and he managed to crack the encryption on the emails back and forth between the Purple Dragons in a matter of hours versus the weeks it was taking him originally. It wasn’t until a few days later at dinner when his family was questioning the sudden amount of productivity and lack of mentions about Rebecca that Donatello had coolly mentioned that she had decided to pursue other interests and they were finished. Leonardo had tried to push the issue, which only resulted in Donatello excusing himself from the table abruptly and leaving the rest of them in silence.

 

Everyone, even Master Splinter, left him alone after that.

 

He thought that, perhaps, in the weeks since, he might be able to forget her. She had floated into his life so suddenly—maybe it was better she went out that way too. It would have been easy, if it weren’t for the sudden itch to read. In between security upgrades and surveillance, he read constantly—anything he could get his hands on. A few days ago, he had received the used copy of _Emma_ he had ordered before their last encounter—his plan had been to surprise her by reading it _._

_“A lot of people don’t like Emma,” she commented, shoveling Mikey’s spaghetti into her mouth while he watched her, amused. “But it’s worth a read—a great example of how important it is to have unlikeable characters, especially when they end up being good people.”_

 

There was _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_ and _Frankenstein_ too—one of her past recommendations, quickly mentioned in some random conversation.

 

It was a sick cycle—the words from the pages could distract him for a short period of time but they were all from her; a part of _her._

At night, he couldn’t shake the look in her eyes, after his bo staff had come swinging down, like she had never seen him before. The word had been reflected in her eyes, watching him in horror.

 

_Monster._

“Donny?” Mikey tried again, bringing Donatello out of his reverie.

 

“I screwed up,” he whispered, eyes watching the floor. “I really _fucked_ up, Mikey.”

 

“Come on—it can’t be that bad—,”.

 

“She found the chip.”

 

Michelangelo stopped midsentence and stared, slightly aghast. “You mean your tracking chips?”

 

“Yes. _My_ fucking tracking chips,” Donatello growled angrily, throwing open a drawer to take out a small brush and dust pan, cleaning up broken glass. “I went that night—I was going to explain it all, why the chip, the file— _everything._ But she found it—somehow—and she figured it all out—that we’re the Phantoms that keep showing up in the news...”

 

Mikey paused, watching his brother for a moment. “But—but that’s a good thing, right? Cause she figured it out, so you wouldn’t have to explain as much—,”.

 

He threw the shards of glass collected on the dust pan into the trash can, clattering around loudly. “No, Mikey—it wasn’t. She—God, she saw the photos of bodies. People we killed, lives _we_ took.” Donatello stopped, taking a deep breath. “She asked me outright if I had killed. I—I couldn’t lie to her again...not about something like that.”

 

His brother let out a low whistle. “I’m guessing she probably didn’t take that very well...”

 

“No—no she didn’t. We started arguing...and then she brought up April and—well, I got angry...” Donatello’s voice faded, ashamed, looking anywhere but at Michelangelo. “I swung my bo down in front of her, Mikey. And she looked so scared, like she didn’t even know me—!”

“Can you blame her?” Mikey snapped, sounding somewhat angry, giving Donatello a glare.

 

“No,” he spoke, voice hollow. “God, no. I could never.”

 

A long silence followed, the only sounds being the quiet whir of computers and technology around them.

 

“She brought up April,” Donatello spoke finally, sighing. “It—it set me off and that’s _no excuse_ but—she made it sound like we used her. Like it was all some sick joke. And April—.”

 

“Was nothing like that,” Mikey finished quietly, watching him with bright eyes. “April is special, _sacred_ , and you felt betrayed, because she didn’t understand just how important she was to us. And, by extension, how special Becky is too—cause you don’t just go around spewing our existence to anyone.”

 

Donatello stared at his brother, mouth hanging open. It was hard to believe this was _Mikey_ —little Mikey that still read comics and laughed at fart jokes—talking to him like this. He’d grown up and Donatello wasn’t precisely sure when it had happened.

 

“...Yes,” he breathed, finally meeting Michelangelo’s eyes.

 

Mikey offered him a timid grin. “See? I told you I notice things.”

 

He managed a small smile, rolling his eyes. “Of course you do, Mikey...of course you do.”

 

“Seriously, though, dude,” Mikey began again, the grin fading slightly, “I think—I think Becky was scared. We’re different—I mean, how do you ask someone to remake their entire lives for us? You can like—even _love_ someone with all you got but, sometimes...love isn’t enough.” He said the word hesitantly, waiting to see Donatello’s reaction before continuing. “Love won’t keep the gangs from getting her or prevent you from getting hurt or worse...” He stopped, thinking.

 

“Love doesn’t stop duty.”

 

Brown eyes met blue and Donatello nodded, his head suddenly heavy. “It was _my_ fault—for all of this. If I hadn’t used the tracking chip, if I hadn’t—.”

 

Michelangelo sighed and interjected, eyes narrowing at his older brother. “Quit it with the ‘what ifs’ Donny—you can’t change the past. Yeah, you _definitely_ fucked up—using your bo in anger and not being upfront about that tracking chip are definitely at the top of that list...” He coughed, continuing. “In the end, would have you done anything different, other than those things? And I mean it—would you?”

 

He stood for several long minutes, thinking. Life now would be a lot easier if he hadn’t met Rebecca. She would still be the dirty blonde who studied late in the library when he placed borrowed books back onto the shelves. He wouldn’t know her laugh or her smile or even the way she clutched a cigarette, even though he hated the habit. He wouldn’t know her love of books or how her stubbornness rivaled Raph’s.

 

Would his life feel as empty as it did now with her gone if she hadn’t been in it?

 

Donatello opened his mouth when an alert from his computer sounded, distracting him. He sprinted across the room, typing rapidly on the keyboard. An encryption program started immediately and an email appeared on the screen within seconds.

 

**_Next shipment: mid January—date to follow. Be ready._ **

****

“Gotcha,” he muttered, pulling up a program to trace the origins of the email.

 

It wasn’t until later at practice did Donatello realize he never answered Michelangelo.

 

And he wasn’t sure he wanted to know his answer.

 

An ache still sat in his chest, unmoving.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman, various publishers including but not limited to Image and Mirage Comics, Paramount Pictures, 4kids and Nickelodeon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Only thing I own is Rebecca Maitland.
> 
> Trigger Warning: This chapter contains references to rape, forced sex and human trafficking. 
> 
> Author's Note: THIS CHAPTER IS DONE I AM SO HAPPY. Super special thanks to KayDeeBlu as my new beta and Adoradork for serving as a sounding board and secondary editor. 
> 
> I’m so glad you all are sticking around. Several of you have sent me songs that make you think of Rebecca/Donny and this fic and if you could continue to do so, I would appreciate it. I recommend listening to ‘Shackled’ by Vertical Horizon for this specific chapter—it fits it pretty well. Your every review, favorite and follow truly means the world to me and I love you all very much. 
> 
> And, as always, please review if you are so inclined!
> 
> ***

“ _Louis!_ ” The young, dark haired man jumped back from the crates in front of him.

 

“ _What have I told you about touching the merchandise?_ ”

 

Hun approached tattoos of purple dragons swirling down his arms. He leaned towards Louis, causing him to hunch back and look in any other direction than at his boss

 

“Louis,” Hun grabbed Louis’s collar, hauling him forward, teeth gritted. “Let’s try this again, shall we? _What. Have. I. Said. About. The. Merchandise_?”

 

“Y—you—you said,” Beads of sweat made their way down Louis’ forehead. “Not—not to—touch—,”.

 

Hun growled, shoving his face closer to Louis’s. “We. Don’t. Touch. It. Do we?”

 

Louis gulped, nodding his head. “You—you’re right, Hun. It’s just—they’re so pret-”.

 

With a roar, Hun hurled Louis to the side, watching with satisfaction as he hit the ground, bones crunching underneath him on the concrete.

 

“Somebody get him a medic,” Hun ordered, annoyed. Several men, with the same tattoos crawling down their arms, moved swiftly, picking up the unconscious Louis and hauling him away.

 

“Stevenson!” Hun growled. He sauntered over to man clutching a tablet in his hands. “How are we looking on delivery?”

 

“On time **.** ” Stevenson checked over the tablet, typing rapidly. “Possibly even earlier. We should be ready in several hours for the exchange and the CKs have already arranged method of payment.”

 

“Excellent,” Hun crossed arms. “And as for the added reinforcements...?”

 

“Done,” Stevenson affirmed with a few swipes. “The Copper Knives have informed me their own members will be there for offense and that they have lined up our members in the area with several new weapons. We won’t lose this time.”

 

“We won’t,” Hun stated, snarling at Stevenson. “Or else it will be me holding _you_ responsible since you took care of the organization.”

 

Sweat trickled down Stevenson’s head as he nodded, eyes still focused on the screen. “Of course, sir...of course.”

 

“They won’t see it coming—it’s like taking candy from a baby...” Hun trailed off, meandering over to several of the crates set up in a corner of the warehouse.

 

He peered inside, his grin growing. A young, dark haired woman was propped up in a corner of the crate, hands tied in front of her. A gag covered her mouth and her eyes were glazed. 

 

“Hey there, sweetheart...” Hun cooed in a tone mocking a lover. The woman fidgeted slightly, eyelids flickering. She shifted back further into the crate, an animal caught in a trap. Her movements were slow and sluggish, the aftereffects of the drug forced into her system hours before.

 

“You know, sometimes they let me grab one for a discount price,” he breathed heavily into the crate, shifting some of the wood back to smirk at her. The woman’s eyes widened slightly and she moved further back from him, a slight cry working from her throat.

 

Hun’s leer deepened and he winked at her. “I think I’ll be letting them know you’re going to be the lucky one, babe.” He shouted off to the side. “This one’s getting a little too alive—give her another dose, stat!”

 

When the drug entered her veins, he saw the tears streaming down her face. He grinned. It was probably the first real thing she felt in days.

 

And it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

 

***

 

“So, we enter in from the rear _here **.**_ ” Donatello’s finger circled on the screen, making a notation. “Based on the diagrams I found, they normally keep the crates in the corner until the payment exchange. Then...the...” he paused, trying to figure out how to phrase it.

 

“The girls, Donny—the women they fucking _steal,_ ” Raphael said from a corner. “The human beings they sell like cars—don’t sugarcoat it.”

 

“Raph,” Leonardo crossed his arms over his chest. “Do we really need to debate this now?”

 

Donatello watched as Raphael’s hazel eyes close. He could tell his brother was counting backwards silently. Irritation was still painted on Raphael’s face, but he nodded at Donatello, clearing his throat.

 

“Sorry. You were saying?”

 

“Leo and I discussed that you and Casey will be responsible for getting the women out,” Donatello gestured to the screen, the crates highlighting themselves in green. “If all goes well, we should have it pretty contained.”

 

“And what about the feds?” Casey said, as he sat beside Raphael, his hockey mask settled on the top of his head.

 

“I’ll be calling them!” Michelangelo said, puffing out his chest. “Once we make sure everything is contained and they’re mostly all out, of course.”

 

Leonardo nodded in agreement. “Mikey is going to be serving as our anonymous tip—and he’ll see enough to make it sound believable.”

 

Donatello made a few notations on the tablet in his hand, concentrating. Another email popped up and he scanned it quickly, taking down the necessary information, frowning. “That’s weird—they just suddenly changed the drop off and moved it up by three hours. That’s in...”

 

“An hour,” sighed Leonardo, fastening his katanas to his shell. “Looks like we’re going to have get this show on the road sooner rather than later.”

 

Michelangelo stood and readjusted the pads on his arms. “Donny, is it normal for them to change plans like that? I mean, you said they’ve been pretty precise in all the information going back and forth about the human trafficking.”

 

_And that’s what worries me..._ Donatello thought, reflecting back on the last several weeks.

The data he had managed to finally pull together from INTERPOL’s database and the email communications he hacked confirmed their growing suspicions that the Purple Dragons were involved with the lucrative dealings of the human trafficking trade.

 

And if the accounting ledgers he managed to pull proved anything, it was _extremely_ lucrative. Women were coming in from every corner of the globe and even locally, up and down the east coast. Each email and document he managed to find showcased the Purple Dragons were heavily connected to some gang—they were nowhere near having that type of international clout. An uncomfortable call to Karai led Donatello to conclude the Foot had yet to sink _that low,_ as Karai quietly and dangerously informed him of such over the phone. In Japanese, no less.

 

“Well,” Donatello clicked through his notes on the tablet, ready to answer his brother. “It is a little odd but it took them awhile to nail down a date and time—maybe things just got ahead of schedule?”

 

“Whatever it is, we’re fucking ready for them.” Raphael moved to punch in the appropriate codes to leave the lair. “This shit ends today—no more girls are going to be sold.”

 

“Yeah, but—” Donatello plucked his laptop from the coffee table and began clicking through it. “I was never able to confirm the other gang that’s possibly involved. Leo, should—should we hold this off, maybe, until I’m able to get more information?”

 

As always, Leonardo’s face remained passive, his ice blue eyes narrowed in concentration, and Donatello could see he wasweighing the possibilities. “I think—we’ve waited long enough, don’t you?” Leonardo said. “I don’t want another batch of those women sold just because we need to gather more intel—I mean, it’s the Purple Dragons,—how involved could this other gang be, anyway? From what you said, it sounds like they’re glorified body guards.”

 

Donatello closed his laptop with a snap and sighed, nodding. “You’re right.” His bo staff was strapped to his shell. “I mean, we’ve handled worse before.”

 

His brothers and Casey nodded a quick goodbye to Splinter. His brown eyes watched the room until the last second when the brick doors close and he could almost swear there was a pair of familiar green eyes watching him, beside Splinter’s.

_“I’ll be back.”_

 

***

 

Chaos ran rampant.

 

Donatello’s bo staff sang through the air, connecting with a Purple Dragon’s head with a loud crack. He fell to the ground and Donatello only had a second to recover before blocking a stab to his side. A bronze knife came into his field of vision and it jerked forward again, aiming this time for his collar bone. He barely missed the strike and felt where it cut along skin. It wasn’t the pain, he noticed, then. It was the dust falling off the weapon around them. Chemical compounds floated through his mind and he noted the darker copper color of the gold masked men’s weapons.

 

_Copper. Copper knives._

“Leo!” He shouted over the chaos of the fighting, his bo striking the man’s knees. “They have copper knives—they’re covered in beryllium!”

 

Leonardo faced Hun, katanas slicing through the air. The blonde man jumped back, just barely missing them before taking a swing toward the blue masked turtle with his machete.

 

A Purple Dragon appeared on Leonardo’s right and he took him down with a quick hit of the hilt of one his swords to his head. “Donny! English, please!”

 

“Poison! It’s dangerous—fatal, possibly, when inhaled!”

 

Leonardo growled and took another swipe at Hun, managing a cut to his upper arm. “Watch the knives—we don’t know what they have on them!”

 

In a corner of the warehouse, Casey fended off a group of Purple Dragons and two of the gold figures, while Raphael worked trying to open up the crates. Casey wielded a baseball bat and a cricket stick simultaneously, taking down two at once with a hit to their legs. A board went flying off one crate, quickly followed by another.

 

“They’re not _fucking here!_ ” Raphael’s shout reverberated around them, rising above the chaos.

 

Suddenly, Casey fell to the ground in the corner shaking uncontrollably, a slash covered in copper dust glowing in the blood gathering on his chest. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and one of the gold figures stood by, blood dripping down the knife clutched in its hand.

 

“ _Casey!”_

 

Raphael grabbed the masked man and smashed him against the concrete wall, his skull cracking against it.

 

“ _Where. the. fuck. are. the. girls_?”

 

“Can’t say, won’t say,” the masked man wheezed and Raphael threw him again, bloodstaining the wall behind him.

 

“ _Try. Again._ Or you’re done.”

 

The masked man clawed wildly at his throat. Raphael’s grip tightened, a sick smirk painting itself across his face.

 

“Can’t hear you. Might want to try speaking a little louder.”

 

“Birdseye Club...on sixth and Madison...auction starting soon,” the man finally wheezed out.

Raphael grunted and tossed him to the ground. The man curled into a ball as Raphael gave one final kick to his ribs. Within seconds, he was back with Casey, picking the man up to place over his shoulder.

 

“Damn it, Casey,” he muttered, worry painting his features. Raphael sprintedtoward Donatello and Leonardo, dodging Purple Dragons, left and right. “Leo!—I know where the girls are. Casey though-,” he gestured to his shoulder. “It’s fucking bad.”

 

More Purple Dragons surrounded them **.** Donatello landed jabs and punches where he could with his bo staff, trying to get closer to his brothers.

 

Leonardo cut down another gold masked man, the blue clad turtle struggling for breath. “Mikey— _call the feds. NOW._ We’re,” a cough interrupted him, distracting him from the Purple Dragon he now faced. “Out numbered.”

 

“ _On it!”_ Michelangelo kicked an opponent and cracked his nun chucks down onto another’s head. He pulled his cell out from his belt and dialed, repeating the location Raphael shouted to him.

 

Purple Dragons poured in from every corner. Donatello struggled for breath, for air, weakening. He watched, horrified, as the gold masked figures and Purple Dragons placed mesh coverings over their mouths and more of the gold dust he saw earlier floated into the air.

 

“Poison,” he managed to cough out, a blow landing on his face. “It’s the beryllium!”

 

Time stood still. Raphael was on his knees, gasping for breath, holding Casey on his shoulder still. Leonardo’s tried fighting two Purple Dragons single handedly—the skill and expertise normally seen in his blades failing him as they slipped clumsily from his hands. Hun grinned and charged toward the blue masked turtle, machete raised high in the air, looking to draw blood.

 

Adrenaline burst through Donatello’s system and he ran to block the machete with his bo staff, before it rammed into the back of Leo’s neck. A hit landed to Hun’s eye and he growled, charging forward, blade swinging. Donatello stumbled back, lungs burning with each breath. Hun focused his attention on him now.

 

The last things Donny remembered was the glint of steel and the smell of blood in the air before his world went black and the gasping breaths of air around him.

 

***

 

“Mom, I already said I was sorry for not calling yesterday...” Rebecca paced through her apartment, sorting through the various gifts and other items from Philadelphia. Her phone was pressed to her ear, her face scrunched in annoyance at the current conversation. A voice blared loudly on the other end.

 

“ _Yes,_ Mom—I’m aware of the snow storm they keep talking on about on the news—it’s why I cut my trip short, _remember?_ ” The truth was more along the lines that Rebecca, in spite of enjoying the holiday visit home with her family, was more than ready to be back at her small studio apartment hundreds of miles away. The impending snow storm gave her the necessary excuses to cut the trip short.

 

_Thank God._

Her mother continued yammeringon the other end. Rebecca half listened, and pulleda newly purchased rug out from her luggage. Green eyes fell upon a familiar dent by her dining table. She sighed, dragging the rug over to the dent. Concrete suddenly settled in her stomach, heavy and full. Her fingers tingled as she rolled the rug out, smoothing out the edges, and the palm of her hand accidentally sunk into the indent underneath. She whipped it back, like it was on fire.   Finally, she stood, staring at the soft blue and white checkered rug.

 

It was like the dent was never there to begin with—that it had never existed.

 

Nodding to herself, she headed back towards her bed and refocused on the conversation—her mother was mentioning something about the news and food.

 

“Okay, okay—I’m turning on the news _now_ for the weather report—happy?...and _yes,_ of course I went to the grocery store today like you told me.” She rolled her eyes, making a mental note to leave immediately after the phone call to head there.   The television flickered on after a moment and Rebecca walked away from it, taking a few books from her bags to place on her shelf, still deep in conversation with her mother over her sister’s newest boyfriend.

 

_“Thanks Tom for that great weather report, looks like New York City is expecting up to a foot or more of snow! Moving forward, in other news, more info on the human trafficking ring recently discovered by federal investigators two days ago. Sources report the possible involvement of the infamous vigilante team the Phantoms...”_

She paused, a book in her hand, poised over an open gap. It shook slightly in her hand and her mind went blank, breath hitching involuntarily in her throat. Her eyes closed, and she allowed a rush of numbness to come over her. She let the mention of _them (him?)_ flow over her before taking a shaky breath and placing the book gingerly in its place. Her mother continued talking in her ear and the news anchor’s voice faded into the background, nothing but a soft murmur.

 

_Baby steps, Rebecca. Baby steps._

 

“Mom...Mom, I don’t think Samantha _meant_ she was going to actually...” A beep interrupted her and she growled softly in irritation, pulling her phone back from her ear to glance at the identity of the intruding caller.

 

The name **_‘Don’_** lit up on her screen, loud and bright

 

Her hands trembled. Her mother’s voice still carried over but went unheard. That name—that _name_ on her phone?

 

She could ignore it, let it go to voicemail—pretend it never happened. Her gaze lifted to the television, showing footage of the gangs they arrested involved in the human trafficking case, words like ‘forced labor’ and ‘psychological impact’ being tossed around.

 

_“Police are still searching for the Phantoms to be brought in for possible questioning.”_

Rebecca’s eyes flicked back to her phone, the name still blinking incessantly.

 

_You’ll regret if you don’t. Closure—everyone needs closure._

“Mom,” Her voice wasstiff, throat tight. “I have to go—no, I _do._ Later—I’ll call you later, _okay?_ ”

 

A heaviness settled on her chest and her thumb shook, pressing the button to answer.

 

“Hello?”

 

Cool, calm, collected. Walls were built, blocking the heaviness—nothing was going to touch her. She wasn’t going to feel anything. She was—she made herself numb.

 

“Becky?”

 

A higher pitched voice spoke into the phone and she knew within seconds it wasn’t _him_. Her brain raced trying to think of the only other person who called her by a nickname and he—well, she was ‘Becca.’

 

_Not anymore._

It clicked suddenly—the voice on the other end of the phone.

 

Gripping the phone tighter, eyes widening, she answered.

 

“ _Mikey_?”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman, various publishers including but not limited to Image and Mirage Comics, Paramount Pictures, 4kids and Nickelodeon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Only thing I own is Rebecca Maitland.
> 
> Author's Note: This was a long time coming. Happy to see you all still here. Special thanks to KayDeeBlu for serving as my beta, Adoradork for serving as a sounding board and secondary editor and JBadgr for being an excellent cheerleader. 
> 
> Few quick housekeeping items: Please continue to send me songs for Donny/Rebecca if you are so inclined. I love them all very much! Also, I’m currently working on a project with Adoradork and JBadgr entitled ‘Dashing and Demure’ which is a TMNT Regency AU which may or may not mention Rebecca. :) If you track down my new writing side blog on Tumblr under the name ‘rosiewriter’ you can find it. In the future, I will eventually be adding Chance Encounters there as well as doing drabble requests. :) 
> 
> Thank you all again for your support, whether through reviews or follows or favorites. And, as always, please review if you are so inclined!

***

 

“Becky! I didn’t think you’d pick up,” Michelangelo stammered into the phone. “Just because, well, with everything…”

The television blared in the background and Rebecca stepped over to the couch, fumbling with the remote for the mute button so she could make out Michelangelo’s words better.

“I picked up,” she said coolly, as she sat down, fingers white from the grip she had on the phone. “I’m a little confused as to why you’re calling me.”

_Numb. Stay numb._

“Yeah...about that,” Michelangelo’s voice lowered and she strained to hear what he said. “Look, Leo doesn’t even know I’m calling you.If he did, he’d have a freaking cow.”

“Then why are we having this conversation?” Rebecca kept her voice tight and controlled. Her eyes closed, irritation settling behind them.

 

_Too much. This is too much. I can’t take this. I’m not strong enough to handle this. Why me?_

A long pause followed and she thought for a momentMichelangelohad hung up, if it weren’t for his faint breaths.

“I’m not the one to be angry with, Becky,” he said, anger coloring his tone.“Things are bad. Really bad. And I’m calling— I’m calling because I thought you might be able to help. Silly me to think you’d look past what happened.” She heard the fumble, the sign he was going to hang up and disconnect the call. Disconnect her forever from them.

_And him._

“Wait! Why are you calling?”

Mikey sighed. “There was a fight with the Purple Dragons.” His voice was urgent. “We all got beat up pretty bad. We had to drop Casey off at the hospital. You know, Don could take care of most of them but he’s, well, that’s why I’m calling.”

_Hurt. He can’t be hurt. He’s the doctor—he’s the healer._

Rebeccasucked in another deep breath. She struggled to focus, trying to edgeaway from the panic threatening to flood her mind. A lump was forming in her throat and it felt as though the room was spinning.  

_Get it under control, Rebecca._

 

“Supplies are low. Everyone’s injured and it’s taking up more than Donny budgeted for. Casey normally gets them for us, on the down low. But since he’s in the hospital--,”

“What can I do?” The words came out before she could stop them, cutting Mikeyoff. She wouldn’t think it; she wouldn’t _dare_ imagine the worst, because _he_ wasn’t caring for them.

“There’s a list. Leo was going to go get them but it’s hard for him to move around right now. And I don’t— Well, we disagree on him going. So this is the alternative. That he doesn’t know about. Yet.” Mikey sounded tired, like he hadn’t slept in days. Exhaustion crept into his voice. Despite meeting him once, he sounded very different from the jokester whose acquaintance she’d made almost two months previously.

Rebecca grabbed a pen and a flyer sitting nearby.She readjusted the phone and leaned on the arm of her couch, ready to write.

“What are they? Tell me how and I’ll get them.”

She heard him shift the phone and the rustle of paper. “Okay. Antiseptic, morphine, bandages, penicillin...” Michelangelo continued on and then gave Rebecca instructions for how to get the supplies.

“They might ask for money. Bring cash, could be up around five hundred dollars.” He paused, and then added quickly, “We can pay you back! Definitely will.”

Rebecca tried not to balk at the amount. Five hundred dollars was a lot to ask to spot at the last minute.Images of dollar signs danced through her head. It would be hard to spare.Some quick mental math calculations had her wincing over her bank account. But, it could be done.

“I know where your apartment is. Alley, across the street? Is six o’clock tomorrow okay?”

“Yeah, yeah that’s fine.” Rebecca twirled the pen; an attempt at keeping calm. It was purple, she noticed. “Mikey, you haven’t mentioned...how is he?”

A long silence followed. For a moment, she thought the phone had disconnected before Mikeyfinally spoke, voice quiet.

“He’s unconscious, Becky. He got beat up pretty bad. Leo’s done what he can for him. Don relented a few years ago to train one of us in some of the medical stuff.”

An image floated through her mind of the night he’d been hurt before, with stitches and blood.

 

_He’ll be fine. He has to be._

 

She struggled for some semblance of control, rolling the pen through her fingers. Her hands didn’t shake as much. She could do this, she _needed_ to keep this together.

“Thanks Mikey,” her voice was strained. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Stay strong, dudette,” he managed before the phone clicked off.

No tears fell from her eyes. She only stared at the list and notes, unmoving.

 

_I can’t let him go._

***

Rebecca turned over in her bed, tugging at the covers as she tried forcing herself to go to sleep. She growled softly and pulled her phone off the windowsill.

 

1:54am.

 

_Great and I need to be up at five to get those supplies._

She sighed andpulled her laptop off the nightstand next to her. She put on her glasses and opened her browser, triple checking the directions to make sure she knew precisely where she needed to pick up the medical supplies. Her hands floated over the keyboard, hesitating.

 

_You should double check. It couldn’t hurt. You might have missed something last time._

Rebecca punched in the search terms ‘phantoms new york city’ before she could stop herself. Several familiar results appeared and she scrolled past the links she had already visited.

Last time she had done this, anger had boiled inside her.There had been enough information to support her rage, each result proving her correct over and over again. _He was bad, he was a killer;_ each post she found only served to validate her own conclusions. The results seemed different now, if not more clear. There was information here she had dismissed last time in her rage. She clicked on one link in particular and an article came up, an interview from a woman whom the Phantoms had saved her from an attempted mugging and rape.

_“I never saw them—they stayed in the shadows. They asked me if I was okay and they even hung around for a few minutes until they heard the sirens coming. I wish I could meet them—I want to thank them.”_

Another link, another similar tale of gratitude.

_“Local gangs were harassing me for months. If it weren’t for them, I’d be bleeding money left and right. Phantoms got them off my back. They’re alright in my book.”_

The next link she found had her stifling a laugh, one of the only times she’d done so over the last several weeks.

_“They helped me get my kitten back and they waited until my mommy found me. The red one was super nice even though he told the orange one to shut up.”_

There were more, stories from everyday, normal people who had been touched by the Phantoms. People who had needed them when no one else had been around. People whose lives were a little easier because someone else was looking out for them. Every story was different, yet the same, and Rebecca felt the tension from earlier in the day slowly leave her mind.

An hour or so later, she closed her laptop, settling back down into bed. She turned towardsthe window, curtains open already open, and watched the snowflakes fall from the sky, highlighted by the twinkle of the street lamps. Sleep was not going to come tonight.

Memories filtered through her mind; _him_ joking while fixing her vehicle so she could get home safely. A kind hand that saw her through sickness. Meals placed at her table. _He_ had done so much for her in such a short period of time. And had she ever truly appreciated his efforts? She didn’t remember even really thanking him.

Her eyes closed and she tried relaxing. He and his brothers had done so much for the city but yet they never asked for anything in return. She thought of the images from the news that evening, of the faces of the women they had saved simply by acting.

 

_Nothing makes sense anymore._

 

She saw see his face, brown eyes bright and shining at her with roses clutched in his hand. She saw his brothers and father, gathered around a table, laughing.

 

_I miss him._

 

The words terrified her. She shouldn’t want this. She shouldn’t want this at all. This was only going to make things more complicated.

 

_I can help it. I’m going to. They deserve it._

***

Cold nipped at Rebecca’s feet through the pavement and she sprinted across the street to the familiar alley. Even though it was still early in the evening, there weren’t many people out on the street due to the snow fall. Darkness was already falling. She hefted the backpack on her shoulders, wincing under the weight of the medicines and bandages inside.

Retrieving the medical supplies had proved to be an interesting adventure. Per Michelangelo’s instructions, she had arrived at the clinic early in the morning and knocked twice, pausing, then knocking twice again.

 _Rebecca,_ she had thought wryly to herself, trying to stay warm in the freezing temperature and thinking stupidly of James Bond. _Rebecca Maitland, here to complete a very important task for a family of mutants._

A gruff man had answered the door and she held out a list, saying nothing else which would draw attention. He simply grabbed it, looked it over, and disappeared for several minutes before returning with the supplies. The grand total had been just shy of five hundred dollars. She knew the money would be repaid, but she couldn’t help but think of her rent payment and groceries she still needed as she handed the money over.

Before the older man closed the door, he’d spoken in a raspy voice brought on by years of smoking. “Ain’t never seen you before. Used to be the redhead and then the jerk with the long hair.”

“...It was an emergency,” Rebecca managed before zipping up the bag, not wanting to give more information.

He watched her curiously. “They tried to save my little girl, you know. Ended up being she didn’t want to be saved but Lord knows they tried.” And with that said, he slammed the door, the sound echoing down the narrow alley around them. Rebecca had only blinked in response, staring at the closed door, before walking off into the early morning light.

Now, standing in the alley waiting for Mikey, she grabbed her Marlboro Lights from her back pocket, shaking one out. She lit it and waited for the nicotine to calm her nerves. Unlike other times, however, the nicotine did nothing and instead made her more agitated. Anxiety shot throughher. She bounced up and down, trying to stay warm in her black pea coat.

 

A creaking noise sounded behind her and she whirled around, seeing the manhole cover lifted and gently pushed to the side. Michelangelo’s face appeared, head covered in a bandage.

“Becky.”

 

There were a few scratches on his face and more covered his shoulders and upper body. Worry flooded her mind. If Mikey was like this, what were everyone else’s injuries like? She dropped the still smoking cigarette onto the snow covered concrete and snuffed it out with her shoe.

“Mikey,” she walked over, face grim and handed him the backpack off her shoulder. “Everything’s in there, just like you told me.”

He nodded, putting the bag on his shoulder. “Thanks, dudette. We...” Mikey swallowed and looked up at her again after a pause. “We really appreciate it. I’ll get you the cash soon.” His fingers grabbed the manhole cover, dragging it across the concrete.

A few more inches and then he would disappear into the sewers. This would be finished.  

“Is—is there anything else you need?” The words left her mouth in a hurry before she even knew what she was saying.

Confusion dotted Michelangelo’s face as he stared at her. “Not really. This was all we really needed. Thanks. Again.”

_What are you doing? Let it go, be done._

“You help people all the time,” she said awkwardly, shifting her gaze to the brick wall next to them. “I read about it last night. You, the four of you, you help people all the time and you never get anything back in return.”

“Um,” Mikeyrubbed the back of his head and she could tell he was uncertain as to where this conversation was leading. “It’s kind of our thing. And it’s kind of hard to want gratitude and thanks when we’re mutants. But we don’t do it for that. We never do it for that.”

 _Then, why?_ She wanted to ask. _WHY do you do it?_

 

More words fell from her mouth before she could stop them. “I’m coming with you. I can help. I promise.”

 

_Let me be useful. Let me give back; let me give back what he gave to me._

Mikey’sface contorted into shock. “I _can’t._ Leo’s going to be pissed enough that I contacted you to get us the supplies, but if I brought you back-” he shook his head.

“I could help! ” She was firm, looking directly at him now. “You said no one else is able to do much right now. I can help.” Her hands balled into fists at her sides.

“Becky, if you come with me now...” he trailed off, watching her.

The breath left her lungs for a moment and she glanced back to her apartment, the drapes open and a small light shining like a beacon. She knew what Michelangelo was implying with that sentence, the other part he wasn’t saying.

_If you go with him now, your life will never truly be the same._

She could walk away right now and have some semblance of a normal life. Whenever she’d see reports on the news about the ‘Phantoms’ she would click it off and pretend she didn’t know who they were, that she couldn’t put faces to them. She might marry and fall in love with someone else. Once in awhile, she could remember a turtle with a purple bandana and their debates and how he looked at her. She would remember the oddest dinner of her life spent with a family of mutants, who had treated her nicely and who helped save the world and others without any type of acknowledgement or special treatment.

 

No, the decision was _anything_ but easy.

 

“A few hours,” she reasoned, stepping towardsthe manhole. “I’ll come for a few hours to do what I can and then I’ll go home.” A fire sparked in her eyes at his look of wariness. “I’m going with you, Mikey.”

Michelangelo only nodded, sighing. “Fine. Follow me.” And with that, he disappeared into the manhole.

Rebecca almost lost her footing on the slick rungs of the ladder. Not once did she look up to the surface.

_No regrets._


	15. Craving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman, various publishers including but not limited to Image and Mirage Comics, Paramount Pictures, 4kids and Nickelodeon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Only thing I own is Rebecca Maitland.
> 
> Author's Note: Hello all! It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? I got caught up with moving in the last month and working on some other projects. Glad we are finally here for me to post. Special thanks Adoradork for serving as a sounding board and secondary editor for this chapter. You always listen to me. <3 Also, special thanks to JBadgr who helped me hash out quite a bit of this chapter and offered her wonderful music tastes to me.
> 
> Some quick housekeeping. We are still hard at work at our Dashing and Demure TMNT Regency AU which you should TOTALLY check out on Tumblr if you get a chance. As for musical suggestions for the chapter, you need to thank JBadgr. I would suggest listening to ‘We Belong Together’ by Gavin DeGraw for most of the chapter. The final scene you should switch to ‘Eavesdrop’ by the Civil Wars. Thank you SO MUCH for reading more about Rebecca and Donny.
> 
> As always, please review if you are so inclined!

 

***

 

Rebecca sat on the couch, shivering in a blanket. She pretended that she couldn’t hear Leonardo and Mikey arguing over her presence in their home. _At least the couch is comfy and the blanket is soft._ She hugged it closer to herself for comfort. The Channel 7 news anchor announced the snowstorm of the century. The DVR showed five minutes past ten p.m.

 

_I want nothing more than to sleep right now._

 

“What the hell was I supposed to do, Leo? Leave her there?”

“ _No._ But there had to be an alternative, Mikey!”

“There was no alternative. She got the medical stuff. She wanted to come and help. I didn’t really plan for this.” Michelangelo said. “If she wants to help, let her fucking help.”

“With _what?_ The laundry? Cooking? She’s a _liability_ here.”

Her grip on the blanket tightened. Rebecca focused on the television screen. _Pretend you didn’t hear that. Easy enough._

“Will you two fuckin’ _knock it off?_ ” Raphael said from the corner. “Sensei finally went to sleep after being up with Donny for the last day and half.”

“Raph, this is an important conversation we’re having—,”.

“And you think s _he_ can’t hear it? Jeez, you’re stupid.” A pile of clothes landed next to Rebecca on the couch. She glanced up at Raphael, his arms crossed.

“They’re Casey’s. He keeps some of his gear here. I think they’re clean.” Raphael pointed to the bathroom.

Rebecca took the hint and gathered the clothes, heading into the bathroom. She plopped the clothes onto the lid of the toilet and glanced in the mirror.

Her sopping wet hair stuck to her head. The long-sleeved grey t-shirt she wore clung to her body and her jeans, a recent Christmas gift, leaked blue dye over her hands when she touched them. _Gorgeous. You should consider a career as runway model._ Rebecca stripped off her clothing, pulling Casey’s large blue sweatshirt over her head. She adjusted the baggy sweatpants over her legs, noting with a snort the space available in the crotch area. Briefly, she wished she had the forethought to pack extra underwear but coming back to the lair had not been in her original plans when agreeing to get the medical supplies.

Many of the tunnels to the lair were flooded due to the influx of snow. Michelangelo had guided her through several detours, wading through thigh deep into the water at one point. Rebecca had tripped face first into the water, leading to her current wet state.

Rebecca pulled her ponytail out and began a quick braid. The motion of her fingers gave her something to concentrate on other than what was waiting on the other side of the door. _They_ were out there, and Mikey was the only one happy to have her there. Some part of her was dying to ask where Donatello was, if she could see him, but she beat that thought back into her brain. _Not the right time right now to go around demanding things._

She came back into the living room, surprised it was empty and the television off.

“Rebecca.” Leonardo stepped out from the shadows in the hall, his face unreadable. She jumped, bumping into the couch in surprise. He leaned on a makeshift crutch, the lower half of his left leg swathed in bandages.

“News said the blizzard is bad. Roads aren’t going to be clear until a few days from now. Tunnels are going to be in an even worse shape for a few more because of all the snow. So, you can stay. Until then.”

All Rebecca could do was nod, her face kept neutral.

“Couch is made up for you. Mikey left a few blankets in case you get cold. Good night.” The sound of his crutch echoed down the hall as he walked away.

A pillow and several blankets were laid out on the couch. She snuggled into them, setting her phone next to her on the coffee table. The lair was dark and quiet and she could hear snores somewhere off in the distance.

_What the hell are you hoping to accomplish with this, Rebecca? What’s your grand plan?_

She rolled over, her back facing the room. _The fuck if I know._

***

_Three days. Three. Days. And they won’t let me do a goddamned thing._

“What are you doing?” Raphael glared at Rebecca, arms crossed.

She paused, clutching the towels she had gathered in her arms. _What did I do?_

 

“I thought I might wash these. They were all over the floor there, near the weight bench.”

“Those are my towels. ,” Raphael said, walking over to her and grabbing the pile from her arms. “I use them when I work out.”

“But, they were all over the floor. Towels should be washed, typically.”

Raphael’s eyes narrowed. He threw the towels on the floor. “I’ll fucking decide when to clean them, okay?”

Rebecca took a breath. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m trying to help.”

“You can help by staying out of the way,” Raphael growled. He bumped into her as he brushed past her. “Don’t you have school work or some shit to do?”

Her eyes closed, grasping for patience that was long gone. “It’s break, I don’t start until—,”. Raphael was already shutting the door to his room down the hall. Rebecca balled her hands into fists, nails digging into the skin of her palms. _Better than screaming._

 

She reached into the back pocket of the borrowed sweatpants where her Marlboro Lights normally were. _Damn it._ Empty, of course. She had gone through half a pack her first full day here, sneaking into the bathroom in thirty minute intervals. It brought back memories of sneaking smoke breaks in high school, flushing the ashes down the toilet. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

She wandered into the kitchen. The dishes from breakfast two hours ago still lay on the table. Michelangelo sat at the table, flipping through a cookbook, oblivious to the chaos around him. She gathered the dishes and placed them into the sink. _I hate washing dishes, but at least it’s something._

“What are you doing?”

 

She resisted the urge to hurl a plate towards Mikey’s head.

“Dishes,” she replied flatly. She ran a spray of water over a bowl, reaching for the sponge on the side of the sink.

“I do it differently.”

Rebecca jumped, startled to find Mikey standing next to her at the sink. He scrutinized the dirty dishes. “I put dish soap into the bowl first and then start.”

“Is there a difference?” She gritted her teeth, scrubbing dried milk and cereal off a bowl.

“I think so. All the crud comes off faster.” Mikey stepped closer to the sink. “Here, let me help.”

“I have it.” Rebecca gripped the bowl, refusing to move. _I will handle this._ “I said I was here to help. I’m helping.”

“But they’re our dishes. Can’t let a guest take care of it all,” he said, flashing a smile.

Rebecca briefly pondered breaking that smile into tiny pieces. The bowl clutched in her hand became a lifeline as she tried to ignore the itching of her fingertips. Nicotine. She craved it.

“I’m more than capable of doing dishes, Mikey. I’ve lived on my own for the last five years. I’ve got it covered.” _For the love of God, please leave me alone._ Dishes would at least distract her from thoughts of nicotine and Donatello’s condition. Her eyes drifted toward the doorway to his rooms on her right. She hadn’t seen Splinter yet today. _Must still be by Don’s bedside._ Nervous flutters filled her stomach and she scrubbed violently at the now clean bowl.

“Becky, let me.” Mikey’s hand reached into the sink, putting dish soap over the other dishes. His elbow brushed against her, his hand reaching to turn the faucet on.

She threw the bowl she was working on into the sink, not caring at all if it broke.   “It’s fine,” Rebecca said, leaving the kitchen in exasperation. “Do it your damn self for all I care.”

“Becky, wait!” Mikey called after her as she made her way into the bathroom. She slammed the door shut, leaning against it with her face in her hands.

_The entire lair and I find my peace in the bathroom._ Some part of her hoped that Raphael would find more of her hair in here. He kept complaining that she shed like a cat.

She held her face in her hands, willing her heart to slow down. Three days and she still hadn’t seen him. Three days and no information on his condition. _I need a fucking cigarette._ She tore through cabinets without a care that this was not her home. Her backpack was shoved in the corner, left there from days before. Rebecca emptied it onto the floor. Her red lighter fell out, along with one, lone cigarette.

The lighter was in her hands. She flicked it. Again. _Damn it, light._ The cigarette trembled in her fingers. She drew in a lungful of smoke. Sweet, sweet, nicotine. _Better than an orgasm,_ she thought, closing her eyes and sighing deeply. Some distant part of her mind urged her to remember to turn the fan on. She ignored it, though, in favor of the nicotine now making its way through her bloodstream.   Her breathing slowed. Tension eased from her shoulders and her worries fled from her mind like a river. For a few minutes, she could forget. Forget where she was, what she was doing. Forget what had happened to _him._

Someone pounded on the door and she jumped. The cigarette fell from her hand, landing on her bare foot.

“Shit!” she yelled, shaking her foot. The lit cigarette fell onto the mat by the bathtub. Rebecca scrambled to reach it as it began to burn a hole in the mat.

“Rebecca, is that smoke?”

 

_Leo. Just my fucking luck._ Rebecca threw the cigarette into the toilet and flushed. _Fare thee well, companion. I hardly knew ye._  

Another knock. “I know you’re in there, Rebecca.”

She wrenched the door open. Leonardo stood there, arms crossed over his chest. “You spend a lot of time in the bathroom.”

_And you spend a lot of time with a stick shoved up your ass._

“Sorry,” Rebecca mumbled, trying to maneuver around him. “Had to go.” _It’s the one place I can be alone._

Leonardo stepped around her in the bathroom.“Interesting. Doesn’t normally smell like smoke when someone uses it.” His gaze met hers.

 

She trembled in anger, her heart racing. The spare traces of nicotine in her body did nothing to relax her. “I smoke.” _Keep the voice controlled, even._ “It’s been a little stressful lately.”

“You know, smoking is bad for your health.”

It was heartbreaking to hear Donatello’s words from months ago echoed back to her. The words were in a voice so unlike _his_ and it was as if someone had cracked her heart in half. God, she ached. And he was _so close_ and no one would tell her _anything._

“Shut up,” she whispered, fists balled at her sides. “ _Shut up.”_

 

“This is all your fucking fault,” Rebecca said. “You won’t let me see him, you won’t tell me what’s going on. I sit around all _fucking day_ waiting for the snow to melt and I might have to leave never seeing him, never telling him—.” She clutched at her chest, holding onto the doorway. _Why does this hurt so much?_

“Telling him what?” said Leonardo, his eyes never wavering in his gaze.

Rebecca’s cheeks flushed. “None of your _damn_ business.” She stumbled out into the living room, vision blurring. She needed to get out of here, she needed _air,_ she needed to _breathe_.

Donatello’s face filled her mind, smiling softly after their kiss.

“Becky?” Mikey stood by the couch, his gaze kind. “Is everything okay?”

Raphael stood in the hallway, watching the scene unfold. She felt all of their stares and some fragile place inside her broke.

_The one you want the most isn’t here._

“Leave me alone,” she snapped. “I want to be left alone.”

“Becky?” Mikey touched her hand. She wrenched it away,. “What’s wrong?”

“I miss him. I miss him so much,” the words fell from her lips like shattered glass. Mikey’s eyes widened and he reached for her again.

“Rebecca?” Leonardo said. “Can I talk to you in private?”

She faced him, wiping away a tear. When had she started crying? “What? Why?”

“Seriously, Leo? Now?” Mikey threw his hands into the air.

“Yes. Now,” Leonardo touched Rebecca’s shoulder and gestured down the hall. “This way, please.”

She followed behind him, feeling oddly numb. They passed Raphael who stood in his doorway. He shoved something in her hands, shaking his head and making a motion for her to keep moving.

Her hand opened. Three clean cigarettes rested on her palm. She shoved them into the pocket of her hoodie.

_I’m going to need these afterwards._

***

_I’d rather have a spork in my eyes right now than do this._ Rebecca sat crossed legged in the dojo, trying to avoid the gaze of the blue masked turtle sitting in front of her.   The tips of her fingers itched for the cigarettes tucked into her pocket.

Leonardo cleared his throat. “First, I wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier. I’m not entirely used to dealing with this.” He gestured between himself and her.

“If you could bother to explain what ‘this’ is, I might get what the hell you’re talking about,” Rebecca said.

His face didn’t change at all and it remained as unreadable as before, which irritated Rebecca more.   _Ultimate poker face,_ she thought.

“I don’t dislike you, Rebecca.” he said.

Inwardly, she snorted. _Sure fooled me._ She stared at the wall, allowing her silence to answer for her.

“This conversation has been a long time coming. It’s necessary for you to understand how things work.”

“I’m pretty sure I get it,” she said, arms crossing. “You won’t let me do a damn thing around here because you _do_ dislike me. I put you in a shitty situation.” Rebecca paused, voice lowering. “You won’t let me see him. Or tell me anything.”

A long pause followed and she finally met his eyes. _Ice_ , she thought. _They’re like ice._ You could drown in ice. It was a quick, silent death. It suddenly occurred to her they were in a room full of weapons. And that she’d spent the better part of three days living with trained killers. Amazing how quickly she forgot that fact.

“How do you think this goes?” Leonardo said, his back straight as steel.

 

“I don’t know.” She hated admitting that. _I fucked up with your brother and I am trying to make amends. I have feelings I’m ignoring._

Leonardo nodded, leaning forward. It felt like he was miles above her.   “We have a few things to discuss, then.”

“How is this your business? How is _any_ of this your concern?” Rebecca growled.

“I’m the leader.” Leonardo said. “Whatever happens to my brothers affects all of us.”

_Of course. The ninja thing. How could I forget?_

“I’ll be honest. I wasn’t very happy with him when I found about your friendship. Relationships with humans are dangerous. One wrong word, one miscalculated move could jeopardize our entire existence.”

“I understand that!”

“You’re a liability, Rebecca,” he said. “What you know about us is a risk. I don’t think you fully comprehend the power you hold by knowing we exist.” He folded his arms, eyes studying her. “We have many enemies. Some of whom would hurt you if they ever discovered your attachment to us.”

Rebecca gulped and looked away. _Hadn’t thought of that one._

Leonardo continued, his tone hard and rough like stone. “I know it’s difficult. It’s why I need you to understand. What you want with Donny, whatever that may be, can never work the way you want it too. There are no fairy tales here, no happy endings and no white picket fences.” He gestured at the displayed weapons and wall coverings depicting ninjas fighting. “This is the life we choose to lead. It’s never changing.”

The weapons glistened in the low light. The ninjas on the wall coverings reminded her of the night Donatello had first come into her apartment and how he had caught her hand twice. Once when she was going back into her apartment, the second when she reached for the weapon strapped to his back. _Instincts. These are all instincts._ Donatello’s reluctance to discuss his family when they first met, the ways in which he always distanced the conversation from himself unless it involved his work; it all made sense.

“I worry,” Rebecca glanced back at Leonardo, surprised. “I worry what you could do to him. He cares about you, still. Very deeply.”

_I do too,_ she thought. But she couldn’t say it out loud. Not yet.

She fiddled with the hands in her lap. “How is he?” She was hesitant, unsure if Leonardo would answer.

"It's been touch and go. For a while." His gaze drifted to the bo staff leaning against the wall. "It was a combination of poison and injuries, and we were blindsided, we didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t tell us.” His hands clenched into fists. "I wasn't sure he would make it home," he said. “Sensei is with him now. He thinks he’ll pull through.”

 

Her throat went dry. _Don could have died and you would never know._

 

“It would be easier if you didn’t visit him when he wakes. The snow should clear in the next few days and my leg is better. I can get you home.”

Rebecca balked at the idea. “I can’t leave him. Not now, not when--,”.

“You need to decide, Rebecca,” Leonardo’s authoritative tone rang out. “I won’t stand in your way _if_ you realize the consequences. You will be the one making the sacrifices, being with someone who must always remain in hiding. You need to decide if Donny is worth that sacrifice.” His eyes went cold. “I won’t see him hurt again.”

A flush of anger rushed through her. “Look, I shouldn’t have done what I did but when I found his damn tracking chip, I freaked. I could’ve have been better about the whole thing, I admit it but—,”.

Leonardo stared at her. “I wasn’t talking about whatever drove you and Donny apart. I’m talking about April.”

_Fucking hell._ Her cheeks went hot. _Of course, you moron. She’s dead._ Rebecca remembered now, the night she and Donatello had fought. She had accused him of lying to April, using her, like she thought he had done to her. His closest friend, the one he had tearfully confessed had died. Information he had entrusted to Rebecca only for her to fling it back in his face. _You’re disgusting, Rebecca. And selfish. How dare you._

“I’m sorry,” Rebecca said. “I should have known.”

“Now you know. You don’t know what it’s like to watch someone you love fall apart from that kind of pain. I hope you never do.” Leonardo pointed for Rebecca to follow him out the door. “Think on your decision. Do not make it lightly.”

Rebecca didn’t sleep at all that night. She stared out into the darkness of the living room. _April, how did you decide to help them, even with all the risks?_

***

Two days of awkward conversations, of feeling unwelcome and unwanted, Rebecca emerged from the bathroom wearing the same clothes she had arrived in, hair wet from the shower. She had even managed to rinse out the underwear she’d been wearing for days on end. It was nice to feel human again.

She grabbed the laptop Raphael had loaned to her. It was time to catch up on emails, as the semester would be starting soon, and she knew some professors had probably sent out syllabi. For a moment, she glanced around. _Odd. Everyone was here a few minutes ago._ The only evidence of life was the TV, switched on to some cooking show. She clicked it off, determined to take advantage of the silence. As she sat on the couch, a hand touched her shoulder. She jumped, almost dropping the laptop.

Leonardo stood behind her. “He’s awake. And he’s asking for you.”

The bottom of her stomach became lead. Sweet, warm relief filled her at the same time. He was going to be okay.

“Also, the tunnels are clear. I can take you home whenever you’re ready.”   The meaning in his sentence was clear. She could leave now. Leonardo walked across the room to Raphael and Michelangelo. She hadn’t even noticed their arrival.  

Of their own accord, her legs led her to the room beyond the kitchen. She had never dared to venture towards it, as if it were off limits. She stopped in the doorway. Two monitors rested on a desk in the corner, next to a counter with several beakers and a small sink.

Donatello lay on a narrow bed in the center of the room, a monitor beeping by his side. Her gaze travelled up the white sheets to his face. She gripped the door frame to hold herself up. Her chest was tight. He looked naked without his mask. Bandages covered his body and scratches marred his face. He was hurt, but he was alive, brown eyes watching her.

Rebecca couldn’t convince her feet to move closer to the bed. _I’m not prepared for this, I don’t know what to do, what to say._ Her hands trembled. The room felt so small. Why was it so small?

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she replied, still holding onto the doorframe for dear life.

“Mikey told me you helped, while I was out.” It was said as fact, like he always did when explaining something to her.

Rebecca strove to keep her voice controlled. “I tried.”

“Leo said you did well. That you were a big help.” He tilted his head, as if seeing her in a different light.

She bit her lip. The heart monitor beeped softly in the background. A minute felt like an eternity. He was so vulnerable, lying there. He’d been so close to death and all she had done was be a complete selfish bitch to his brothers. What right did she have to reconsider, to talk?

_I can’t do this. I’m not strong enough._

Rebecca turned her back to him. “Leo said that the tunnels are clear and I can go home now.” Her body shook. A roaring noise filled her ears. “I should get going before he—.”

“I missed you.”

The effect of those words washed over her like cold ice. Her entire body shook. _He couldn’t have missed me._ There was a crack in her chest, her heart snapping like twig. All because of three damn words she didn’t deserve to hear.

Sobs wracked her body. Rebecca rushed toward Donatello, tears streaming down her face.   Green arms closed around her as she fell onto the bed, sobbing.

“Becca? Becca, it’s okay.” He wove his fingers into her hair.

_No, no it’s not_. The words never came.   She’d missed that, missed him calling her Becca, more than she ever cared to admit.

He pulled her close. She pressed against him. How could you miss arms? How was such a thing possible, to miss someone so much you _ached_?

“Becca,” Donatello whispered.

“Just hold me,” she croaked, gripping him tighter. “I forgive you. I forgive you for everything.”

He held her, a comforting hand stroking her back. “I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I missed you.” The words came out garbled and soggy. “I missed you so much.”

 


End file.
